


Shoebox of Photographs

by Yuzururu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, This is a lot longer than I thought it would be whoops, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuzururu/pseuds/Yuzururu
Summary: Unlucky culinary grad student, Katsuki Yuuri, comes to Tokyo in search of a future pursuing his cooking passions. Instead, he finds more adventure than he's bargained for...in the form of a dog Cafe run by a certain Russian model. //Or basically, a Coffee Shop AU. I know we've been craving one.





	1. Tomatoes and Mushroom Omelette

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a little slow, but I promise it'll pick up. I'm the type of writer that likes to set stuff up. Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Chapter 1: In which Katsuki Yuuri, an unlucky culinary grad student, finds a dog with a very familiar name. 
> 
> ((This wasn't proofread, so apologies for any mistakes.))

Yuuri pushed back the blinds in his room and blinked blearily at the sunlight.

Snow was coming down in fine drifts, sticking to the windows, fluffing up at the edges of the glass. Yuuri yawned, and shivered as a lick of steam curled lazily from his mouth.

He wiped at the condensation on the window pane and peered outwards.

Already, Tokyo was on the move. Cars were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. A few meters away from his window, the subway rattled noisily by, ferrying morning commuters to their cubicled office jobs. When he looked down, he could see people struggling with coats and umbrellas, trudging determinedly along. They were specks of color against the grey cement.

It took a while for him to remember where he was; a dingy little one-man apartment. Bare walls and dusty floors, no tatami mats. Wooden sliding doors partitioned each of the small rooms off. His unpacked boxes lay stacked in a corner, half-opened and forgotten. His bedroom was sparsely decorated; a picture of his family and his poodle framed on his desk, a couple of pens and notebooks scattered here and there, a cookbook by the foot of his bed and his phone and laptop tossed somewhere in the corner of the room, probably by one of the charging ports. He didn’t have a proper bed-frame and was still using a futon, which felt weird because of the hardwood floor, but he supposed that it wasn’t _that_ big of a difference, aside from little knots and kinks in his neck that he found himself shaking out every morning.

In the whole apartment, the only thing that he’d set up properly was the kitchen. The big metallic fridge was already humming in the corner and well-stocked. His pots and pans cleaned and hung neatly on the hanging hook rack he’d drilled into the wall just the day before. He’d even taken the time to go to the grocery store just a few blocks down and get the seasonings that he loved before labelling them and slotting them neatly into every cabinet and drawer.

::x::

Yuuri didn’t often make breakfast for himself, but when he did, he liked to do it well.

This morning, it was a Western style tomato and mushroom omelette, folded neatly over two pieces of buttered toast. Next to it sat two strips of bacon, blackened at the edges but not entirely burnt, crisp to the touch. He thought about coffee but dismissed it and went for the green tea instead.

Setting it all up on an upturned cardboard box, he eyed his unpacked belongings and fought the urge to groan to himself. He scarfed down breakfast; he had too much to do, too little time.

And then he lounged around on the futon, scrolling through Twitter on his phone, before deciding that he’d better get his ass moving or he’ll just waste yet another day. Shoving his phone aside, Yuuri finally approached the daunting, neglected pile in the corner of his living room, and grabbed the closest cardboard box.

It was full of his clothes.

Into the laundry basket went the t-shirts and the one hoodie that he’s been using to stave off the biting winter cold. He frowned a little upon finding a shirt that had severely shrunk in the wash. It now looked like it was meant for a fifteen year old. That one, he tossed into the laundry basket too, which was quickly becoming a container for problems that he would deal with later. The one pair of beach shorts that he owns, he threw carelessly aside, and then, upon careful introspection, he decided it would better belong in the laundry basket as well. The rest of his clothes were patted and hung up; he was too lazy to get the iron from whichever other box that he’d packed it in. For the fifth time since attempting to fully move in, Yuuri lamented his lack of foresight and wished that he’d labelled what was in each box. Soon, his closet was decently populated. He had his winter coats and long sleeved shirts his jeans and his sweatpants.

The socks were sorted and matched up and slotted into a partitioned underwear drawer. There was a couple of funky pairs, which Yuuri threw halfheartedly into the laundry basket. Perhaps the washing machine would cough up the missing half of those pairs, though Yuuri knew more than anyone that it was wishful thinking.

His clothes done, Yuuri moved onto assembling a desk. While he didn’t have enough space in his bedroom for both the desk and the futon right now, he supposed he could use the desk as some kind of pseudo book case or television stand.

He spent roughly fifteen minutes trying to decipher the oddly counterintuitive instructions and decided that he didn’t need to follow pictures in a guidebook to make a desk.

That proved to be a mistake.

Three splinters later, and with only one table leg properly assembled, Yuuri finally decided to give up on the desk and go for something else. Something easier.

And then he found his box full of pictures of Victor.

Blushing fifty shades of red, Yuuri shoved that box aside...and then pulled it back towards him, sticking his hand determinedly into the posters. He came out with a sheaf of glossy paper, each one with a different Victor smiling back at him. There was Victor, leaning casually against a motorcycle. Victor, suggestively peeling open the side of a leather jacket to display the dashing polo shirt underneath. Victor, his hand curled around a perfume bottle, his gaze sultry and half-closed. And, Yuuri’s personal guilty favorite...Victor Nikiforov, his blue eyes glinting cheekily back at the camera, modeling a speedo.

Yuuri groaned at himself and placed the posters back into the box. He’d promised himself that, now that he had graduated college and was ready for grad school, he would move on from his silly crush on an internationally, world-renowned model and perhaps actually look for real people he could date. But apparently that promise was easier said than done.

He took Victor’s box and placed it into the back of his closet. There it would stay, Yuuri decided, until his room was in working condition, he’d registered all his classes and he got his life in order. 

::x::

“Welcome!” The cheery store clerk beamed as Yuuri nodded politely in her direction.

She reminded him a little bit of Yuko, her brown hair tied neatly behind her, that contagious grin always gracing her girlishly cute features.

 _Stop_ , Yuuri commanded himself. _Grocery shopping was supposed to be therapeutic, not time for you to think about how you failed to woo your childhood crush._

He found himself wandering over to the meat aisle, his eyes sizing up the packages before him. There was supposed to be some kind of deal on the pork chops, and it was a miracle that all the housewives of Tokyo hadn’t snatched it up yet. He picked two packs of pork and tucked it into his shopping cart.

And then came the vegetables, the eggs, the fruit, and a couple of bags of chips for him to snack on. He’d been a workout maniac once upon a time, inspired perhaps by the lean perfection of Victor’s body...but he’s since given up and traded his body in for his love of his mother’s dishes. He was still trying to decide whether or not he regretted that decision when he found himself back at the meat aisle, staring at a promotional photo of a hot-pot recipe.

He had a hard time deciding whether he wanted to eat hot-pot or pork katsu bowl tonight; one of them warm him but remind him how incredibly lonely he was, and the other would be comfort food but would make him homesick. He ended up getting ingredients for both, burying packets of sliced beef beneath a whole head of cabbage and heading to the cashier before he could change his mind.

“That will be a total of 11400 yen.” The cashier worked quick, and soon he was sent out the door with two bulging bags of groceries. The sun had already begun to set, leaving the city basked in some kind of dimming afterglow. Humming a little tune to himself, Yuuri made his way down the block and back towards his small apartment, glancing sympathetically at the cars packed onto the road. They were stuck in bumper to bumper traffic again, rush hour but backwards, everyone cramming onto the streets in order to get back to their families.

It was because his head was turned that he didn’t see the grey shadow speeding towards him.

It was because his head was turned that he didn’t feel the shadow attaching itself to one of his grocery bags and yanking, hard.

And it was because his head was turned that he heard, rather than saw, the rustle of everything he’d paid for falling out of one grocery bag and tumbling onto the snow-tracked pavement. What woke him out of a slack-jawed stupor was the sound of tragic cracking, as his eggs tumbled out of their container and hit the cement.

“No!” Yuuri cried.

Cradling his other bag of groceries to his chest, Yuuri lunged for the surviving pieces. The head of cabbage, thankfully wrapped in cling wrap, was salvageable. As was a couple of oranges and one bruised-looking apple. It took him a little longer to find the loaf of bread, which had been flung violently to the side by the impact, and took a moment to mourn his eggs before he realized that two of them had plopped neatly into a merciful pile of snow and weren’t cracked.

The one thing that was completely ruined, and that Yuuri suspected was the real motive behind the surprise attack, was the thin slices of beef. Said slices of beef were currently scattered around the snow, and Yuuri’s attacker was gobbling them down. His attacker had a pair of floppy ears, bright brown eyes, a long snout and a wagging tail. It had thick, tell-tale curly hair.

A large, grey poodle.

“Hey!” Yuuri inched closer to the dog. The dog perked one of it’s ears up and looked warily up at Yuuri, before attacking the meat a little more. When the next piece had disappeared down it’s throat, it started eagerly on some of the styrofoam.

Yuuri panicked. “What are you eating, hey...hey! Not that, oh come on…”

He scrambled closer and managed to grab the edge of the styrofoam with one hand. The dog growled at him, and tugged on it, and Yuuri pulled back. There they stayed, playing some kind of bizarre tug of war, the dog prancing on the snow and kicking up little puffs of ice into Yuuri’s face.

“Styrofoam is bad! Bad!” Yuuri was yelling, nevermind that other passersby were stopping to stare at him wrestling with a stray dog.

“Bad dog!” Yuuri finally said.

The poodle let out a long whine and let go of the styrofoam, parking its rump on the frozen cement.

Yuuri sighed. Keeping one eye on the dog, he reluctantly placed his other groceries down to pick up the styrofoam and throw it away into a nearby bin. The poodle was sniffing at his other bag curiously, so Yuuri shooed it away and clutched the groceries protectively to his side.

 _All that food, wasted…_ Yuuri wiped snow off his cheeks and stood to trudge home.

The poodle stood to follow.

_Huh._

“Um…” Yuuri took a few steps. The poodle trotted after him, obedient.

“You can’t...follow...me…” Yuuri felt as uncertain as he sounded. The dog was stubborn, however, and kept pace with him all the way down the block. Even when Yuuri ducked into an alley to try and escape it, the dog was sitting at the alley entrance, wagging it’s tail.

And it was with him all the way to the entrance of his apartment door, nosing his leg as he searched his pocket for the keys. It was a challenge, balancing groceries in one hand and throwing his weight against his apartment door. The door had always been a little jammy, and it was fighting him even now. It took him a couple of tries but eventually he got it, the dog piling into the apartment with him with loud barks of excitement.

“Wait,” Yuuri commanded, pleased to see the dog planting itself in the doorway with its head cocked.

Sighing, he placed the whole bag of groceries into the refrigerator. _To be sorted later…_

And then he headed back to the doorway to confront his unwelcome visitor.

::x::

The dog had eaten one of his slippers and was starting on the second one with gusto when Yuuri reappeared.

“No!” Yuuri found himself crying, for the second time that night. _Dear lord, why was his luck so shitty tonight?_

It was a replay of the snow scuffle as he wrestled his remaining slipper from the dog and then chased it a corner. That in itself was a struggle; there wasn’t much room in his apartment, which meant less places for the dog to run and hide, but also less space for Yuuri to maneuver himself around the troublesome canine. Man and dog came to some kind of tired stalemate as the dog was now crammed between two empty cardboard boxes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Yuuri said. He held his hand out tentatively, and the dog leaned forward to sniff him.

“What a troublesome dog you are.” Yuuri sighed.

The dog licked him in reply, and Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a smile creeping over his face.

“What’s your name?” Yuuri said softly. The dog cocked it’s head again, ear flopping over to hear his voice better. “Are you lost? Do you have an owner?”

“Are you all alone in Tokyo, like me?”

::x::

They ended up being amiable.

The dog lay at the edge of the kitchen, occasionally lifting it’s head to look as Yuuri continued cooking their dinner.

Yuuri had decided to forgo the pork cutlet tonight and finish some of the boneless chicken thighs that he’d bought in hopes that he would be motivated enough to go back on his slimming diet. Obviously, the dog needed the chicken more, so he rehashed one of his blander workout recipes and boiled up some meat for the poodle. As he waited for the food to cool, Yuuri found himself talking with the dog, the one-sided conversation jarring yet welcome in the otherwise silence of the room.

“What do you want to be called?” Yuuri was saying. “Puppy? Poodle? Dog?”

The dog barely responded, it’s eyes closing.

“Victor?” Yuuri mumbled.

The dog sat up, suddenly, staring at Yuuri, cocking its ears at him.

Yuuri jumped, startled. “What?”

He plated the chicken and brought it over. “Dinner is served…” He paused, suddenly uncertain.

“Victor?”

The dog woofed a confirmation, and Yuuri set down the plate of chicken with a quirked smile. He wasn’t sure what to think, what to say…

::x::

Yuuri woke in the middle of the night to the sound of shuffling and whining coming from outside his bedroom door.

He’d passed out after doing the dishes and making sure that the thermostat was set to a relatively warm temperature. He’d even made a makeshift bed for the dog outside, flattening some of the boxes and dragging out an old blanket. Somehow, he’d thought it was a good idea to wrestle the dog into the shirt that had shrunk; it fit the poodle well, though the poodle itself wasn’t too happy about it.

“Vicchan, what is it?”

Blearily, he sat up and reached for his glasses. A quick glance at the phone told him that it was three in the morning. _Way too early for anyone to be functional._

Vicchan’s whines got louder, so Yuuri reluctantly rolled out of bed and opened the door.

The poodle lunged at him, and Yuuri feel back with a surprised cry. And as the dog landed squarely across his torso, Yuuri felt something cold and metallic graze his cheek.

_A...collar?_

He reached for it, heart pounding. In the darkness of his apartment, he could barely make out the engraved letters. 

 _Makkachin,_ the collar read, and Yuuri’s heart stuttered.

That name sounded awfully familiar.

 


	2. Coffee and Croissants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Russia to Tokyo, Victor Nikiforov liked to think he was confident enough to handle everything...

Victor Nikiforov arrived in Tokyo roughly three months ago.

He still remembered the day he decided to leave.

It was approaching the end of a balmy Russian summer, and the air was already turning crisp with the promise of falling leaves. As the chill of autumn started settling into his apartment, Victor made the decision to leave and was already half done with packing before the thought even occurred to him to call Yakov.

“I’m leaving,” Victor said breathlessly into the phone, before Yakov, his manager, could get a word in.

Yakov was uncharacteristically quiet after hearing that, so Victor plowed on through his confession. “I can’t stand the atmosphere of this city anymore. It’s too suffocating. I don’t want to model for any more brands, I don’t want to meet with any more famous people, and I don’t even want to hear about any potential movie gigs. I just want to go somewhere quiet and collect my thoughts for a bit, while I think about what I want to do for my future.” The words, which he had to force out of his mouth at first, now came tumbling out, like water rushing out of an opened tap.

“Are you sure?” Yakov’s voice was quiet, low. Almost menacing, if people didn’t know him well. Though Victor knew that even though Yakov liked to put up a tough front, a persona that’s good for business, Yakov himself had a heart of gold and cared more than anyone else what happened to Victor’s wellbeing. The events that had drove Victor to make this decision...how Yakov had handled both himself and Victor’s presence in the media, was already proof enough that Yakov was putting Victor first.

“I’m sure, Yakov.” Victor replied. He heard a tremor running through his voice, and he squashed his feelings of uncertainty down, deep into the bottomless pit of his soul, mercilessly. Victor Nikiforov wasn’t one to be scared so easily. And him leaving Russia was just a temporary reprieve. He wasn’t running away.

He wasn’t.

“I see. It would be good for you to get away from all this.” Yakov was gentle, but Victor could hear the disappointment, the weariness, in his manager’s tone. He made a mental promise to himself that he would return, and sort things out.

And so it was settled, strangely, because Yakov didn’t even yell at him, instead told him gruffly to keep in touch and to book his flight himself. So Victor spent the next half of the day throwing his things into a brown, old travelling trunk that he’d found nestled in the back of his closet. He only took the essentials; a pair of jeans, a couple of his favorite shirts, pairs of underwear and a handful of dog biscuits and treats for Makkachin, his favorite book and his favorite pan to cook with, a pack of coffee beans that he preferred. And after a quick deliberation, he took a framed photo, of him and Yakov and the newcomer, Yuri Plisetsky. The short blond was glaring defiantly into the camera. In the corner, Makkachin was snapped in mid-bounce as the attention-loving poodle rushed towards his owner.

Packing took around two hours, and afterwards, Victor tied up his long hair, brushed his bangs out of his face and fixed a quick bunch for himself. He remembered to top up Makkachin’s food bowl. The poodle dug into the food heartily, while Victor sipped at his mid-morning cup of coffee and nibbled on some slices of toast. His stomach turned with indecision, but he forced the food down and continued evaluating his apartment. Even after packing, it didn’t feel like anything had changed. Once again, the feeling of being stuck crept up his throat, and Victor turned away with a frown.

It was time to go.

He booked the flight that night, and spent the night on the couch, tossing and turning in the lonely hours of the early morning, wondering what it was like in Tokyo. Would he make friends with his neighbors? Would he stick out because he was a foreigner, and because his hair was silver? Would they think he was a freak for having long hair?

At three in the morning, Makkachin pushed his cold nose into Victor’s arm, and Victor laughed.

“Alright, I’m off to bed, buddy.” Victor promised.

Makkachin climbed onto the couch next to Victor and snuggled into his side. Victor wrapped his hand around his dog, and fell into a light unconsciousness, plagued by promise and worries of a new adventure ahead.

::x::

“Boarding now, flight JX 304, departing for Narita Airport, Tokyo. Narita Airport, Tokyo.”

The overhead speaker jolted him out of his thoughts. Victor rubbed his eyes and grabbed his belongings. Beside him, Makkachin lifted his head from where he’d been laying sleeping against one of the airport resting lounge chairs.

“We’ll sleep on the flight,” Victor promised. Makkachin wagged his tail and bounded upright. Victor smiled, tired. He wished he had the endless energy of an eager dog.

He’d chosen a red-eye flight, boarding at 2 am. This way, he would be able to avoid anyone who might recognize him. The people around him were either half dead themselves, or too preoccupied with making sure they weren’t forgetting anything out of fatigue to pay any attention to a famous Russian model boarding a flight to a small island country in East Asia.

There was a brief moment of panic when he reached the boarding gate. The lady at the counter was checking passports and flight tickets. Victor had chosen the most bland and comfortable looking outfit for the flight, and had even taken pains to hide his long hair into the folds of his hoodie. But still, one look at his passport and...no doubt she would recognize him…

“Have a wonderful flight!” The flight attendant said, in Japanese.

Victor heaved a sigh of relief as he was waved through the gate. Beside him, Makkachin shot ahead of him, galloping down the ramp and towards the main body of the airplane. “Slow down, Makkachin!” Victor yelled, and Makkachin, being the obedient dog that he was, sat at the end of the ramp and grinned lopsidedly at his owner. Victor ruffled his fur as he walked past, and Makkachin leapt up again with a bark. The two of them strolled into the cabin together.

Victor felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders as soon as he’d settled into his seat. Next to him, Makkachin was eyeing the blinking lights of the airport runways curiously.

He’d left a voice message for Yakov and then turned off his cell so that no calls to get through. His heart was thumping in his rib cage, throwing itself against his chest, all the way until the wheels of the plane jerked and left the ground. And he felt his mood lift with it.

“We’re on an adventure, Makkachin,” He laughed, stroking his hands slowly through the tangled fur of his poodle. “We’re going to somewhere completely new, and we’re going to find new places to explore, and eat new food.”

Makkachin, simply happy to hear his owner’s voice, wagged his tail.

::x::

The apartment that Victor rented was next to one of Tokyo’s subway stations, in a small apartment building crammed between big business skyscrapers. In front of him, the elevator train tracks curved past his window and disappeared all the way down the street. Makkachin loved that, especially when the train would rattle by in the morning. Makkachin’s barks of happiness always woke Victor, but he didn’t mind as much, lazing on the couch and watching his dog prance up and down at the windows. Victor always wondered what the morning commuters thought of the excitable poodle that pawed at the window when they were shuttled past on their way to work.

The first few days had been tough. Jet lag kept Victor up at night, and made him unreasonably sleepy in the morning. He stumbled through the first few days, running on nothing but coffee and convenience store bread, and it was a few days later that he realized he would have to start becoming fully functional again, if not for himself then for Makkachin, who was starting to sit at the doggie bowl during the early hours of the morning.

And so Victor started pushing himself to get up earlier, to go to bed later. He started cooking again, the same simple meals that he would make for himself back in Russia. Toast and fried eggs, mashed potatoes, sausages. Eating the food, even though they were bought from a supermarket across the world, transported him right back into the comfort of his old apartment. Still, Victor swallowed the nostalgia with his breakfast and continued each day with a smile on his face. He would enjoy the freedom that he’d found for himself, Victor promised.

It was one month into his Tokyo stay that Victor thought of the idea for the bakery.

The idea came to him, breezy autumn day, as he was walking through one of the parks. He yelled a jovial greeting to an elderly couple, strolling past him hand in hand, on their morning walk. Beside him, Makkachin bounced happily, tongue sticking out, tail wagging, carefree as only dogs could be. Victor laughed as Makkachin barked and rushed into a pile of leaves, diving headfirst into it and scattering red orange into the sky.

They were already getting used to the city, already easing into the slipstream of the morning commute and the lunchtime rush hours, and ducking into little alleyways and seeking out small mom and pop shops for the best meals. Makkachin seemed to have a certain affinity for sniffing out the best restaurants for pork cutlet rice. Makkachin was wholeheartedly enjoying his newfound freedom. Now that Victor didn’t have to be constantly ferried away for various modeling gigs and product shoots, the two of them were inseparable.

Halfway through their walk, Victor’s stomach rumbled. After turning out his pockets to check the amount of yen he had on him, Victor decided to lead Makkachin towards a corner coffee shop, one that looked like it had already run through the battle of the breakfast rush and was now gently pacing through pre-lunch preparations. They ducked into a small coffee shop, welcoming the breath of warm air that combed at their faces once they pushed open the door. The baristas greeted them cheerfully; one of them, a young woman, squealed, and Victor froze. _Did she...recognize me?_ And for a moment, his heart was sent haring away into thoughts of panic and paranoia, and he was ready to turn around and beckon for Makkachin…

But all she did was murmur in Japanese about how a cute poodle had walked through the door. When she pulled out a cell phone, Victor politely asked her not to take photos, and the woman looked disappointed but soon returned to being professional.

Victor’s heart rate slowed to normal.

He ordered a caramel macchiato to go, feeling something sweet that morning. And as he sipped on his coffee, he felt as if something was missing. It was only after he walked half a block and saw a student hurrying past with a packet of melon bread in their hands that Victor realized it was a good pastry to go along with his coffee. _A croissant,_ he envisioned. _A buttery, flaky croissant that would add just the right amount of salty balance to this sweet drink…_

And the idea of the bakery flashed to him, like a lightbulb going off at one of his photoshoots. Victor smiled, finished his drink and hurried home, Makkachin in tow, to plan out his wishful thinking.

That night, Victor went to a hairdresser and requested a shorter haircut. The workers at the hairdressing salon had ooh’ed and ahh’ed over his long hair, but they relented and cut it in the end. Business was business, after all. It hurt to see those long locks that he’d grown out for so long fall from his head, but he found that afterwards, the lightness of his shorter hairstyle more than made up for it. As he walked home, Makkachin trotting obediently beside him, he couldn’t help but bring his hand up to touch his new fringe.

::x::

A few weeks later, Victor signed the deal to a shop that was just down the street from his apartment.

It wasn’t located ideally. Most bakeries liked to be close to the hub of a busy subway line, so that people on their way to work or on their way home from school could grab a snack to sustain themselves. That’s how most bakeries made their money.

But Victor found himself enjoying the challenge of thinking up ways to draw customers to his new business endeavor. The first time he’d pitched the idea to Yakov, his Russian manager had cursed up a storm about how a former model would know next to nothing about business. _Yes,_ Victor had assured Yakov. _But I have more than enough funds to sustain this idea of mine, and I want to see how far I can take it._ In big cities like Tokyo, new stores either took root in the community and did well enough to survive, or they came and went and were replaced by other businesses in a matter of weeks.

Victor’s competitive edge wanted to see how long he would last, how well he understood the nature of this foreign city in his two months of stay here. _As long as I make the idea original, it’ll attract customers all the same._

It took a few days of brainstorming before the idea came to him. Quite literally, in fact, in the form of a big, whimpery, playful poodle, who decided to devour one of the pages of the planner Victor was using just to get his attention. “A dog bakery or...a dog cafe,” Victor said thoughtfully, before reaching out to ruffle Makkachin’s head. His dog barked...

And then threw up the paper on the carpet, causing Victor to shoot out of his chair with an alarmed yelp.

::x::

A few days later, Makkachin went missing.

 _It’s my fault,_ Victor thought. The thought was looping, looping, looping in his mind, like a broken track, like a fly buzzing around a drain, like a figure skater drawing lazy circles in the ice. _It’s my fault._

_It’s my fault._

He’d started renovation efforts for the shop, bringing in construction workers to put the new counter in. All the banging and the screeching of machinery grated on Makkachin’s nerves, so Victor had gotten into the habit of leaving Makkachin outside the work in progress store front, tied to a lamp post, with plenty of food and water, his favorite squeaky toys and even shade if he needed it. Makkachin never complained, only sat there loyally, taking in all the action with his wide brown eyes.

And then one day there was a problem with the plumbing. One of the workers had jogged out to call Victor in to assess the damage, and Victor had forgotten to tie Makkachin completely to the pole.

When he next came out to check on his beloved companion, Makkachin was gone.

Something must’ve excited or spooked the dog. Makkachin wouldn’t have run off without good reason. As Victor ran out into the streets, calling his pet’s name, calling in Russian, his tongue curling around the familiar words, he heard the rattle of a heavy delivery truck go by, the sound jarring against the usual quiet of the streets.

Victor printed posters, posted them all over this area of the city, in all the most obvious places. He asked around; surely Makkachin would be distinguishable to many, but the more shakes of the head he got, the more he found himself fearful of what happened to his beloved companion.

A week later, leaning against the wall and overseeing the final touches to the shop with blank eyes, Victor could only think about his dog. Running out there, in the bustling, haywire streets of Tokyo, chasing after an owner who had carelessly left him out without a leash…

Victor wondered where Makkachin went, if Makkachin was safe, if Makkachin stayed off the roads and walked along the pavement and pedestrian paths like Victor had always led him to. He wondered if Makkachin had found his way back. Or if someone nice had decided to take Makkachin in. As the days grew colder, Victor wondered if Makkachin was sleeping under a roof, tucked into warm blankets, or if Makkachin was out there in the streets, shivering in the cold, as his matted fur became dirtier and dirtier, and people ignored him because it was just another stray mutt out on the streets...

As the sun sank, so did Victor Nikiforov’s heart.

::x::

Just a mere three miles away, Yuuri was wrestling with a very familiar, very stubborn poodle.

“Shower, Makkachin, shower!” Yuuri huffed as he finally edged the big dog into the tub.

The two of them had spent a fitful morning together, sharing Yuuri’s small futon. Makkachin had draped himself messily all over Yuuri’s bedspace and had not been inclined to move at all. _If dogs could grieve, or cry,_ Yuuri thought, _Makkachin would definitely be sobbing._

And so Yuuri, with his big heart, decided to let the dog sleep in his bed, all wriggled into his limbs and tangled into his blankets. Makkachin had finally stopped whimpering in the early hours of the morning, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, and the two of them dozed off quietly, finding comfort in each other’s arms.

When Yuuri woke up the next morning, his bedsheets were stained brown from the dirt in Makkachin's fur.

Yuuri had yelped, waking Makkachin. The dog hopped up with so much force, his head had knocked into Yuuri’s chin, sending the poor man spinning backwards, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. Seeing as Makkachin had galloped over immediately to give him a couple of apologetic licks, Yuuri suppose they were still on friendly terms. Sighing, he’d dragged all of his bedsheets and dumped it into his already overflowing laundry hamper, and then tugged the shirt off the poodle before shuffling him in the direction of the bathroom.

It was a struggle, getting Makkachin through the door. Makkachin was smart, and seemed to recognize the faucet. There was a lot of whimpering and stubbing of Yuuri’s toes before the dog was finally in the bathtub.

It took a while for Yuuri to take the collar off; it had tangled into Makkachin’s fur, and was so dirty that it was hard to find against the poodle’s long grey locks. Finally getting it off, Yuuri ran his hands over the Russian characters carved into the silver disks, suddenly and childishly glad that he’d had a brief stint with learning Russian because of his obsession with Victor Nikiforov. It was proving surprisingly helpful.

As Yuuri ran his hand under the showerhead to make sure that it was warm, Makkachin decided that he liked baths after all. There was a big whoosh as Makkachin took to the air, before landing with a splash in the bathtub. A wave of water splashed out of the tub, soaking Yuuri from midriff downwards.

“Heck!” Yuuri spluttered, before detaching the showerhead and aiming it playfully at Makkachin.

::x::

“I guess it’s time for us to go find your owner, Makkachin.”

Just one night was troublesome enough, and Yuuri was absolutely certain that Makkachin’s owner must be worried sick. Makkachin, the name itself, still bothered him to no end. He’d definitely read it somewhere, especially since those Russian characters looked so familiar...but his efforts to learn the language had died years ago, as he’d peeled away from studying other languages to focus on his cooking. _Maybe it was something to do with Victor_ , Yuuri blushed at the thought. _Wishful thinking._ Victor Nikiforov was known for his love of poodles, but there was no way Victor was in Japan.

“Makkachin, your owner must Russian, huh?” Yuuri scratched the dog under his chin, fondly. “Your owner must be tearing their hair out by now. Let’s go find them, and get you home safe and sound.”

It took him a while, but he finally found Vicchan’s old leash in one of the boxes. He ran his fingers over the flattened chord, suddenly quiet. _Would Vicchan have looked like Makkachin, if he’d had the chance to grow up? Would Vicchan be here with him, in Tokyo right now, if-_

“Let’s go for a walk, Makkachin,” Yuuri said. His voice was steady.

Makkachin barked an agreement and the two of them were off on a mission.

::x::

Two hours later, Yuuri was standing in front of what looked like a newly renovated bakery cafe combo.

 _Makkachin Cafe!_ The sign said, alongside a cheery cartoonish poodle face that looked suspiciously like the source of all Yuuri’s problems these past few hours.

In his left hand, Yuuri was holding a very crumpled, very smudged flyer. On it was the slightly blurry yet miraculously still readable address of this cafe.

“If only you could read, Makkachin. Maybe then you would’ve found your way back yourself.”

Yuuri pushed the door open, Makkachin by his side. Warm air pushed at his winter-cooled face, and Yuuri took a second to peel the gloves off his hands. The inside of the cafe was devoid of anything that would make it stand out. There were a few pictures on the walls, and there were a couple of table and chair sets, but not nearly anywhere enough to start running an actual business. The glass cabinet, to put pastries on display, was empty and gathering dust. The whole place missed the homely aroma of coffee and bread and instead felt heavy, empty and lonely.

“Excuse me!” He called. “Excuse me...um!”

There were sounds of movement from the back; a clatter of pots, a shuffle of weary feet.

“I have your dog!” Yuuri called, just as the owner of _Makkachin Cafe!_ stepped slowly into view.

Yuuri’s voice died.

Makkachin shot out from his side with a series of rapid barks.

In front of him, Yuuri watched as Victor Nikiforov’s face lit up with indescribable joy. Yuuri’s longtime celebrity crush knelt and embraced his dog with a yell of absolute happiness. The two of them wrestled on the floor of the cafe, Makkachin licking at Victor’s face.

 _Oh my god,_ Yuuri thought. _Makkachin is the name of Victor’s dog._

_Holy shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the start of their fateful meeting! More adventures and fluffy comedy to come~ Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos! You guys are the most amazing readers, and I'm lucky to be able to read all your lovely thoughts on my writing. Thank you so much!


	3. Grilled Cheese Sandwich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many things are being crossed off Yuuri's bucket list right now. Getting to play with lovely Makkachin, meeting Victor Nikiforov in the flesh...it's dangerous, but he finds himself wishing for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Halloween!
> 
> Have I mentioned that you're all amazing? Thank you so much for the lovely comments and kudos! 
> 
> A quick note for this chapter; it was surprisingly quite difficult for me to write, so the beginning might feel a little slow. I really wanted to try and build up their interaction. Not sure if I did it right ;w; 
> 
> However, I'm quite happy with how it turned out. Please enjoy~

_Oh my God. Victor’s right there. That’s Victor Nikiforov. Right there. In the flesh._

That one thought, and not much else, looped in Yuuri’s mind. He stood there, in front of the unmanned counter, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his clothes and just...staring and trying to process what he was seeing.

Victor had buried his face into Makkachin’s fur and was murmuring softly in Russian. Yuuri caught snatches of the phrases, whispers of love and apologies, promises to never let the dog on his own again. All that and more. Victor’s fingers shakily combed through Makkachin’s now coffee-brown fur, resting gently on the crown of the poodle’s head. The two of them were comfortable, relieved and beyond happy to be together again.

Yuuri felt like he was intruding on a highly intimate scene. All at once, the blood rushed to his cheeks and he realized that he was being incredibly rude, just standing and staring. Watching things happen around him.

He spun on his heel to leave.

His damned sneaker squeaked against the floor.

Victor Nikiforov glanced up and looked Yuuri straight in the eye. There were tears of relief in the Russian model’s eyes, little glimmers of moisture gathering at the corner of the sharp blue that Yuuri had spent hours staring into, back when he had plastered posters of Victor all over his wall, but by God, nothing even compared to the intensity of the real deal-

Yuuri stumbled backwards, uncertainly, before holding his hands out in front of him. “Uhm! I didn’t mean to intrude! I just wanted...well I found...err, your dog was...he actually…”

Makkachin took that moment to tackle Yuuri happily. Yuuri went down under a good 40 pounds of big, eager puppy. His jacket would’ve cushioned his blow, but Yuuri felt a sharp pain against the back of his head as he clipped a table leg on the way down.

The last thing he heard was Victor, crying out in surprise, before his head knocked against the tiled floor of the cafe and his vision flickered black.

::x::

“-akkachin, look what you did to the poor man!”

Yuuri woke up five minutes later to a blur of grey and blue, hovering anxiously over him. His vision slowly focused.

It was Victor, leaning his face towards him, gazing worriedly into his eyes. Yuuri could see the concern in Victor’s eyes, and inadvertently, his gaze wandered towards the arch of Victor’s perfect nose, all the way down to those tempting lips...

Yuuri gasped and Victor beamed. To Yuuri’s relief, Victor pulled out of his personal space and to the edge of his peripheral vision, where he seemed to be watching Yuuri’s movements carefully. Yuuri turned his head away from Victor’s face and found himself staring up at a half-painted ceiling. There were wires from previous light fixtures still poking out from the soft plaster.

_What’s Victor doing, here in some defunct restaurant in the middle of Tokyo?_

“You’re awake!” The Russian exclaimed, cutting into Yuuri’s thoughts. “I was worried that Makkachin’s attack did lasting damage.”

Yuuri tried to speak. He only managed let out a series of incoherent groans. His head throbbed, and though it was a pain that he could deal with, the headache sent his thoughts skittering into a thousand directions. And he couldn’t get the image of those damned lips out of his mind. He almost wished that he’d pretended to be still unconscious, so that Victor would’ve leaned in a little closer…

Abruptly, Yuuri decided to cut off his thoughts by attempting to sit upright. When he tried to move his arm to probe his temple with his fingers, he found that he couldn’t move the right half of his torso at all. Panic shot through him...until he turned his head and saw that Makkachin was laying across half of his chest, slobbering over his arm worriedly. The dog let out a whimper and licked his cheek when Yuuri turned to him.

“Say sorry, Makkachin. You nearly killed him!”

“‘S okay,” Yuuri managed groggily. He felt very, very tired. “My head can take a few blows.”

Victor was back in his field of vision, and Yuuri was immediately distracted. Victor smiled uncertainly down at Yuuri.

“Can you get up?”

“If you can move your dog, please.” Yuuri quipped back.

Victor laughed, and hearing the sound made Yuuri feel as if his heart lifted right out of his chest. It was a warm, melodic sound; so human, so real and so alive.

“Okay,” Victor said smoothly, before bowing downwards and picking Makkachin up easily. Makkachin let out a long whine and struggled a bit in his owner’s arms before flopping happily into Victor’s chest and licking eagerly at his owner’s face. Victor chuckled again, and Yuuri strained his ears to catch the sound, staring up at Victor and feeling, embarrassingly, jealous of the dog.

Blinking furiously, Yuuri struggled to prop himself up on one arm. The headache was fading already, and really, all he was focusing on now was the pounding of his heart in his chest. He managed to brace his palm against the floor and was slowly inching himself upright when he felt someone grab his arm.

“Need help?” Victor’s voice came from his left, so close that his breath tickled across his ear. Yuuri let out a slow, shaky breath and...nodded.

Even though he probably didn’t actually need the help.

Instead, he got to cherish the feeling of Victor wrapping a gentle arm around his waist. Victor pulled Yuuri’s left arm across his neck, so that Yuuri could brace himself against Victor’s shoulders. Once he was sure that Yuuri wasn’t tilting dizzily to one side, Victor stood in one fluid motion, pulling Yuuri up with him.

Yuuri stumbled into Victor’s side.

 _Gah!_ Yuuri thought helplessly. _What the heck-_

“I’m so sorry!” Yuuri backpedaled, keeping his gaze on the floor. “I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to, er..”

“That’s alright,” Victor smiled. “I should be the one apologizing. If it weren’t for the fact that you found Makkachin, I would have…” The man trailed off thoughtfully, turning to look at Makkachin, who was now sniffing curiously around the base of the counter.

A heavy silence settled between them. Victor’s expression was carefully blank now. Yuuri thought about the tears that had welled up in the corner of Victor’s eyes and frowned.

“My name is Katsuki Yuuri,” He said. He stuck out his hand for a handshake, cheeks burning. 

Victor turned to him, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m Victor Nikiforov. Nice to meet you.”

Yuuri blinked and struggled to keep his expression neutral. Victor grasps his hand and gives it one firm shake before gesturing to the bumbling poodle. 

Victor continued. “And that naughty dog right there is-”

“Makkachin.” Yuuri blurted, and Victor blinked in surprise.

“How did you know?” There was an undeniable curiosity in Victor’s voice.

Yuuri floundered for a reply. “Well, it was on his collar. And you said it, a couple of times, I think…” _Oh, and I learnt how to speak Russian, just because some of your interviews were exclusive to Russian magazines. Of course._

“Makkachin,” Victor agreed. There was something else in those blue eyes now, something serious, attentive and probing. Yuuri wasn’t sure how to react to this new side of Victor. It felt a little like Victor was looking into Yuuri’s very being and was gauging whether or not he liked what he saw. Perhaps it was because of the clarity, the understanding in Victor’s appearance, or perhaps it was because of how brightly his smile shone, even with dark circles under his eyes, but Yuuri couldn’t help but feel as if he was giving himself away.

Before another silence could stretch between them, Yuuri waded bravely into the conversation. “So um, can, um...what brings a foreigner like you here?”

“What am I doing here?” Victor pressed a finger to his lips and hummed thoughtfully.

::x::

“It’s kind of a long story,” Victor admitted. “Why don’t you stay a while and chat with me? I’ll make you a cup of coffee…” Victor laughed again, that wonderful sound weaving itself into the atmosphere of the room. “Hey, you’ll be the first ever patron of the Makkachin Cafe! I humbly welcome you and I hope I can make your stay as cozy and enjoyable as possible. Failed so far, because Makkachin knocked you out, but hey, it all gets better from here.”

“Coffee sounds good.” Yuuri found himself smiling back.

Victor stood and stretched. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s not much on the menu for now, sorry ‘bout that. I’ll take a quick peek at the fridge and see if there’s anything I can make you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not too hungry at the moment...thanks for the offer though!” Even though it was nearly lunchtime. _Lunch..._ at the thought of it, Yuuri’s stomach growled.

“Not hungry?” Victor arched an eyebrow and Yuuri blushed.

Victor chuckled as he headed towards the kitchen. Yuuri watched Victor walking away, noting that Victor walked with an incredible grace to him, effortless and beautiful. It must be a byproduct of being a model, being hyper-aware of how you looked to everyone around you. Meanwhile, Yuuri himself with his mortifying clumsiness and general awkwardness…

It was still kind of hard to believe he was here, having coffee with Victor Nikiforov.

A small whine at his feet reminded him of who truly made this whole magical experience happen. Yuuri reached down to give Makkachin a good scratch under the chin. Makkachin, eager to get some more love and attention, clambered greedily onto Yuuri’s lap, and suddenly Yuuri was twelve again, hugging Vicchan to his chest and and burying his fingers into the soft of Vicchan’s fur, feeling the tiny heartbeat of his own dog tap a rhythm to his thoughts…

The grief hit him like a tidal wave, unexpectedly. His nerves felt raw and exposed, and he missed Vicchan so badly he thought he was going to double over from the sudden mental pain. Instead, Yuuri leaned into Makkachin’s neck and let out a shaky breath, struggling to bring his emotions back down.

“What do you take in your coffee?” Victor’s voice floated toward him, almost sing-song, sounding like it was coming from far away.

Yuuri looked up reluctantly from where he was practically hugging Makkachin and saw Victor watching.

Victor gazed back, steadily. There was an understanding in Victor’s eyes. And somehow, that made Yuuri’s grief feel even more unbearable.

“Sugar...please…” He said.

Victor nodded and retreated back into the kitchen.

Yuuri knotted his hands nervously into Makkachin’s long, coffee-brown coat. The dog wagged his tail happily and nosed at Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri sighed. “You’re a good dog, Makkachin. Don’t run away from your owner anymore, okay? You’re going to make him worry.”

Outside the cafe, the afternoon sunshine melted the lazy drifts of snow into raindrops. As Yuuri waited for Victor to bring the coffee over, he watched as the raindrops through themselves against the glass, running down the translucent panes and melding into each other. Water trickled and gathered, dewdrop puddles, in the corner of the window sills.

A restless yearning coiled, tight and unrelentless, around Yuuri’s heart.

::x::

“Here.” Victor had brought over two mugs of coffee, both balanced precariously in his left hand. In the other, he held a jar of sugar cubes. A carton of fresh milk was tucked under his right arm. “I thought I’d bring over the sugar and the milk, so that you could adjust according to your tastes. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the first customer by making the coffee too sweet, after all.”

Upon seeing owner come back, Makkachin leapt off Yuuri’s lap and went trotting over, tail wagging. Victor tousled Makkachin’s head a little before sitting down opposite to Yuuri and leaning forward eagerly.

“Want to hear about my adventure?” He beamed.

Yuuri fiddled with his fingers and shifted. He tried to put a smile on his face, but it was faltering, and he could see Victor’s disappointment at the lack of an enthusiastic response. At his feet, Makkachin alternated between pawing at Yuuri’s trousers and Victor’s legs, begging for treats.

Yuuri’s stomach rumbled again, and he turned his face downwards in embarrassment. He always did like to stress eat whenever he was feeling the slightest bit upset.

Victor caught on a little too quickly. “I _did_ look in the fridge. There’s nothing really there...just a couple of slices of bread and cheese…”

Yuuri shrugged. “That’s okay, I don’t need to eat-”

“But,” Victor placed a comforting hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, prompting the shorter man to face him. “But if it would make you feel better, I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich. I have the ingredients. And, to tell you a secret, that’s my comfort food, too.”

Makkachin yipped.

“You get a treat too, Makkachin. You must’ve missed your Russian doggy treats, huh?” Victor turned away to grab an apron from where it was sitting, unused, on a table top. “How about we all have snack time, and we can tell Yuuri about how we flew all the way from Russia?”

Yuuri stood, suddenly, the chair clattering away behind him. Victor spun in surprise.

“Actually,” Yuuri started, his voice confident, unwavering. “If you don’t mind, I want to cook.”

::x::

_There’s butter in the fridge. Good._

Methodically, Yuuri worked his way around the kitchen. The kitchen wasn’t very well stocked and it wasn’t completely furnished and functional either. One of the two taps didn’t have any water coming out of it, and the gas stove wasn’t hooked up yet, so he had to make do with a singular electrical heating stove that he found in one of the cabinets. The pans were dusty and the knives were blunt; he washed the pans carefully and brushed them dry with a clean towel before moving onto sharpening the knives.

He found comfort in the routine of his actions, clicking the metal against each other, running the blade smoothly along the honing steel. These were actions that he’s done thousands of times, over and over. The kitchen was his terrain, his kingdom. Here, he was confident that he knew what to do, and he could do away with feelings of helplessness, of loss, of grief.

“Can I watch?” Victor had strolled into the kitchen while Yuuri’s back was turned. Yuuri glanced over his shoulder, never stopping in his actions. Beneath his practiced hands, the blade slowly became sharp enough to use again.

“Of course,” Yuuri shrugged. “This is your kitchen, after all.”

Victor laughed. “I don’t know much about cooking, to be honest. I cooked for myself, and sometimes for my lovely poodle, but never anything substantial. I always figured I could learn on the job.”

“That’s what most people tend to do, yeah,” Yuuri found himself breathing easier, talking easier. The knife was thin-edged and gleaming by now. He set that aside and shuffled over to the fridge to grab the bread, the cheese.

The two men fell silent, comfortable in each other’s presence. Yuuri focused on slicing the bread evenly; not too thick and not too thin. He wanted to pan toast the bread into a crunchy golden brown, soaked through with savory butter, a perfect texture complement to the soft, melted cheese.

He turned the electrical stove on and placed the newly cleaned pan on top of it. Into the pan goes a good chunk of butter, which was starting to melt, slowly but surely. It was half-infuriating that the electrical stove didn’t have the same amount of temperature control as a gas stove, but Yuuri knew how to make do with lackluster equipment. That was the life of a college student, after all.

“Can I follow along?” Victor said. Yuuri was surprised to hear a note of uncertainty in the Russian man’s voice, almost as if he was fearful that Yuuri would say no.

“Of course?” Yuuri bit his lip. “You’re technically still head chef here, because this is your restaurant. If you want, you can even treat me as a sous chef. I just needed...to get some of my- I was just feeling stuck. I needed to do something with my hands.”

“I see.” Victor had that serious look on his face again, like he was trying to unravel Yuuri’s words. “Cooking takes your mind off things?”

Yuuri exhaled. “Yeah, it does. It calms me down. I love it. I love it a lot.”

“Alright,” Victor smiled. “You get to be head chef today. I could learn a thing or two about making an amazing grilled cheese sandwich.”

So the two of them took over the kitchen together, even though they were making a meager meal. Yuuri taught Victor how to slice bread. He demonstrates, hands steady and sure, the knife parting the crust of the bread smoothly. Victor tries it and leaves jagged edges and crumbs, uneven slices where the base of the bread is thicker than the top. But the two of them laugh it off and carry onwards.

The pan was heated, so Yuuri dropped the slices into the melted butter. The rich smell of butter and toast filled the room, lingering. As he’s toasting the bread to crispy perfection, Yuuri asks Victor to find the cheese and to slice it. “Evenly, this time,” Yuuri says.

“Yes, chef.” Victor grins in sheepish understanding.

At one point, Makkachin struts in, head high and nose twitching. Victor lays the slices of three different cheeses out on a platter and slides it over to Yuuri, who begins layering them onto the bread, slice after slice, turning the sandwiches over every so often to make sure that they were cooked evenly. The cheese starts to melt, adding the spice of sharp cheddar, the heavy musk of swiss and the light creaminess of provolone into the aroma of the room. Victor darts out of the room to grab some snacks for Makkachin, who had tried (and failed, thankfully) to clamber onto the counter to get at the remaining slices of cheese.

As Victor leads Makkachin back to the dining area, distracting his poodle with a handful of dog biscuits, Yuuri plates the sandwiches. He slices them neatly down the middle, two even halves of a whole, four perfect triangles of grilled cheese in the middle of a stark white plate. He takes a moment to turn off the stove and to make a mental note of what’s going into the sink for washing later before grabbing the plate.

It’s only when he’s walked out of the kitchen that Yuuri realized that he’d taken this moment for granted.

He’d been so preoccupied with working out his inner turmoil over Vicchan that he’s forgotten completely that he was in the presence of someone that he’d admired from afar for so long. Victor was still, upsettingly, kind of a stranger to him, and this was just a lucky glimpse into the life of someone who, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t even give Yuuri a second glance.

“Over here!” Victor waved him over to a table that he’s set up, complete with a dining cloth and a set of cleaned utensils, napkins. A lone candle flickered in the middle of the table. “I thought we might as well make it a little more romantic while we’re at it. Wow, that smells delicious, Yuuri!”

Yuuri grips the plate. _Well, we had it while it lasted._

He sets the plate down in the middle of the table, and smiles shakily. “Enjoy, Victor. Thanks for letting me use your kitchen.”

“This looks amazing!” Victor reaches in for the first slice.

Yuuri watches as Victor Nikiforov bites into his cooking. Yuuri watches as the hair falls over Victor’s forehead. Watches as Victor closes his eyes in happiness, all the better to enjoy the taste of the melting cheese. Watches, quietly, as Victor swallows the first bite and opens his mouth to shower Yuuri with praises. Yuuri watches, because he’s suddenly realized that it’s a privilege to be here, and that once he steps foot outside the Makkachin Cafe, there’s no guarantee that he would be back as anything other than a regular, just another customer to Victor Nikiforov’s whimsical adventure.

Yuuri finds himself wishing that this moment would stretch on, forever. So far into the future that he would never again feel the gnaw of loneliness nipping at the heels of his thoughts.

A future with Victor. _How nice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed up their dynamics! Yuuri is the teacher now and Victor...well, Victor's just there for the ride really. Didn't really mean to make it super bittersweet at the end, but I hope this sits well with you guys. I certainly enjoyed writing this chapter. 
> 
> I'm actually thinking of writing my own version of the Soulmates AU for this fandom. Would you guys be interested in reading something like that? Even though I know there are some very well written, established Soulmate fics for YOI... 
> 
> Oh and before I lose courage, you can find me on Tumblr! I've recently started trying to draw more so I made an art blog. It's kind of empty, but I would also love to take art (or writing!) requests on my blog, so if anyone wants to check it out, you can find me at kyueon.tumblr.com!


	4. Grilled Cheese Sandwich II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is used to people keeping him at arms length and judging by Yuuri's shyness, he was expecting more of the same. Yuuri is happy to prove him wrong.

_Delicious._ Victor licked his fingers after he’d finished the last of his sandwich. _Yuuri’s cooking is absolutely delicious._

Grilled cheese sandwich really was his comfort food, a high-calorie treat that he would only allow himself on the worst of his days; when his shoots didn’t turn out right, when his smiles didn’t hit his eyes and the photographer pointed out flaws in his posture that hit a little too close to home. On days where he would absentmindedly bring up the notion of having a male co-model star with him in some of the commercials, only to see Yakov looking at him with something close to betrayal in his eyes. On those days, Victor would go home and slip two pieces of store-bought, processed cheeses between two slices of bread, slather it in butter, bake it in the oven for five minutes and then bite into it, savoring the stringy cheese, peeling bits of the edges off for Makkachin to lick at.

He’d so openly admitted one of his guilty secrets to Yuuri because the Japanese man had looked like he was in need of some honest talk. Victor had always been good at reading people, which gave him the powerful freedom of choosing whether or not to respond to other people’s whims. But Yuuri...something about that wistful look on Yuuri’s face, that flicker of pain that Victor had seen when Yuuri was hugging Makkachin....something about that spoke to the hurt that was buried inside Victor’s chest and sent his stomach twisting.

It was then that he decided he hated seeing Yuuri frown.

So he filled the void between them with mindless, cheery chatter. It was the kind of autopilot that he switched on when he was in the presence of his fans; a wink here, a grin there, and he would have them wrapped around his pinky.

It didn’t work with Yuuri. Instead, Victor watched as Yuuri’s gaze flickered around the shop, refusing to meet his eyes, before settling on the now-cooling cup of coffee held in his hands.

There was a beat of silence after they’d finished their food. It was a neutral, amiable silence, bringing to mind the mellow hours of a first date. Victor sat back, Makkachin flopped over his lap, and thought back to Russia, to the people there that he’s left behind.

 _How was Yuri Plisetsky doing?_ With a pang of guilt, he realized that he hadn’t thought of the younger model at all. Yuri would be taking all the heat from Yakov right now, because the modeling agency had just lost their ace and was probably scrambling to put another shoot together. Poor Yuri was only fifteen, and yet he would have to bear the burden of being the face of Russian modeling. At least until Victor finds inspiration from his adventures and returns to his proper place on the glossy cover of all the magazines.

Victor was sure Yuri would be fine. The boy has the looks, after all. It’s the attitude that he was worried about, but Victor was sure Yakov was slowly but surely whittling that teenage angst mood away from Yuri.

 _Although...hmmm._ Victor couldn’t help but feel as if he was forgetting something in regards to the short-tempered blond. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t all that important.

Makkachin interrupted his thoughts by sliding off his legs to sniffle under the table for the last few crumbs. When he couldn’t find any, the poodle leapt back up to lick at Victor’s face, finding a few crumbs stuck to his cheek. Victor batted the dog away playfully and Makkachin barked, offended. Victor laughed and wrangled Makkachin down from where the dog was panting and looking content, before at last turning to Yuuri.

Victor noticed that Yuuri hadn’t touched his halves of the sandwich at all. The grilled cheese lay, toppled awkwardly together, the cheese starting to look oily and unappetizing.

Across the table, Yuuri had noticed that he was under scrutiny. The brunette knotted his hands together, nervous.

The awkwardness didn’t sit well with Victor.

“So what about you?” Victor said, smoothly.

Yuuri hesitated, his head tilted slightly to the side in contemplation of the question. Victor found his lips quirking upwards. _Adorable._

There was something unreadable in those brown eyes of his. To Victor’s surprise, he seemed to be drawn into figuring out this enigma that was Katsuki Yuuri. It was rare for him to find someone that he would have trouble figuring out, and Yuuri had seemed, at least in Victor’s opinion, to be someone who wore his heart on his sleeve. Instead, there were secrets to this meek man who’d stumbled into the Makkachin Cafe.

“What are your comfort foods?” Victor shrugged. “I told you mine was grilled cheese, and you even went and made it for me. What about you then?”

“Pork cutlet bowl,” Yuuri replied without hesitation. It was Victor’s turn to be slightly baffled.

“Hmmm, sounds interesting.” He’d seen pictures of pork cutlet bowls, of course, and Russians were no strangers to pork products, but he’s never thought to try one for himself.

“It’s kind of hard to make though,” Yuuri admitted, with a small modest smile. “My mom can make it perfectly, but I’ve yet to perfect it. I’m trying though! I mean, of course, I cook it when I miss her cooking but it never comes out completely...right…”

“What does it taste like?” Victor asked.

Yuuri blinked. “It’s breaded, fried pork laid on a bed of rice and sometimes mixed in with fried egg.”

“Sounds amazing,” Victor said. And as he opened his mouth to invite Yuuri out to dinner sometime, _maybe we could go look for a restaurant that makes good pork cutlet bowls together in Tokyo, or you could show me the good food in this area, what do you think-_

Makkachin, ever the troublemaker, had also noticed that Yuuri had left his sandwiches untouched. The dog lunged for the treat, scrabbling onto the table and scarfing down half a sandwich before either Yuuri or Victor had time to react. The two men leapt out of their seats with yelps of alarm and Makkachin led them on a merry chase around the unfurnished restaurant before flopping down in utter defeat and getting tickled mercilessly by both Yuuri and Victor.

::x::

“Do you like dogs?” Victor said.

Yuuri nodded. The brunette’s gaze was still on Makkachin, the poodle squirming delightedly as Yuuri’s fingers scratched the underside of his chin.

Yuuri untangled his hand from Makkachin’s fur and Makkachin let out a half-sigh of disappointment, so Victor took over.

It was then that he realized his dog was missing a collar.

“Did...when you found Makkachin, did he have his collar on?” Victor could’ve sworn that Yuuri mentioned something about Makkachin’s collar earlier in conversation.

“Ah!” Yuuri sounded genuinely surprised, a look of embarrassment spreading as quickly as a blush over his pale cheeks. “I took it off to give Makkachin a bath, I must’ve forgotten to put it back on.”

“That’s alright,” Victor waved his hand, nonchalant. “I can always go buy another one.”

“Um, if you don’t mind, I can go get it and return it to you. I actually live around here, so as long as I remember how to get back here, then it should be no problem.”

 _A second meeting._ Victor jumped at the chance. “Really? Well, if it’s no trouble, that collar actually was specially engraved…” _Not really,_ Victor smiled. _But I want you to come back._

It was rather entertaining to see hesitation battle the guilt on Yuuri’s face. Instead, the Japanese man dipped his head in a motion of apology and mumbled something about getting the collar back to Victor as soon as possible. Victor just threaded his fingers through Makkachin’s fur and hummed quietly.

::x::

They did the dishes together, and it was then that Victor realized he didn’t even know if Yuuri knew about his...professional life. The modeling career that he had left, with a huge part of his soul, back in Russia. Being in Yuuri’s presence, playing with Makkachin together, eating and cooking together; all of that had driven the anxiety of meeting a potential fan right out of his mind, and for the longest moment, Victor had forgotten that he had a reputation to uphold. Or an ex-reputation. _Eh._

What would it be like if Yuuri knew who he was? Would Yuuri be so casual around him? Although, Victor mused, this was the whole point of him moving to somewhere like Japan. The probability of his fans knowing him, all the way across the world, in a little island country that didn’t even speak his language, would be very low. Victor had even eyed some of the international fan groups on various social media platforms and found that most of his international fans were English speaking.

Also, there were some things that Yuuri said....something about reading Russian...could it be-

“Hey Yuuri,” Victor said, turning to face the younger man, just in time to get a dollop of soap foam on his face.

“Ack!” Yuuri held his hands up. Next to him, a precariously balanced pile of dishes toppled slowly into the soapy water with a splash. “I-...I didn’t mean to do that! I’m so sorry oh my-”

Slowly, Victor reached up to touch the splatter of soap suds on his face. In front of him, Yuuri performed his best imitation of a tomato.

“Um...oh, um...towel…” Yuuri turned to grab the nearest clean towel and whipped around to hand it to Victor-

Only to get a splash of cold water in his face.

Spluttering, Yuuri let the now-wet towel splat onto the floor. “Hey!”

“You did it first,” Victor whistled. “Was just getting even.”

Yuuri cupped his hands under the running sink and flicked the water at Victor. Victor grabbed a nearby, still-greasy frying pan and used that to block his face from the assault.

“Didn’t get me!” He cried. In front of him, he heard Yuuri huff in disappointment, so he lowered the pan.

The sponge was already flying towards him, too fast for him to react. It hit him square in the forehead, and then slid down to balance precariously on his nose.

“Oh.” Victor said.

“Oh…” Yuuri said.

And then Makkachin bowled into both of them, tangling their legs and bringing them down into a pile of laughing, yelping mess. Makkachin galloped in circles around the collapsed two, wriggling his long body and barking his dissent, offended that he hadn’t been included in the fun.

::x::

“When are you going to be open for business?” Yuuri leaned to wipe down the table, and Victor found himself inadvertently admiring the way Yuuri stretched across the smooth surface. The cute way Yuuri pushed himself up onto his toes to reach across the pane of wood for the very edges of the circular table. How meticulous Yuuri was with cleaning every spot and stain from the grains of the wood.

 _I haven’t thought of it yet._ But Victor didn’t like to admit such weaknesses. So instead he said:

“Soon. Depends on Makkachin, because- you know, actually, I was thinking it would be nice if I could make this into a dog cafe.”

“A dog cafe!?” Yuuri’s entire face lit up with wondrous joy at the idea. His excitement was contagious. Victor had originally thrown that thought out there, thinking aloud, but seeing Yuuri’s reaction made him realize that it might be a very worthwhile endeavor after all.

“The paperwork might be a little bit of a hassle, though,” Victor admitted. “I’m still not that great at reading Japanese, and there would be rules to comply with. Sanitation, and what not.”

Yuuri was silent for a beat, before muttering something shyly. Victor played dumb.

“What did you say?” Victor leaned closer to the younger male, watching as Yuuri bit his lip in indecision.

“I said I could help you with it, if you really want.”

“Really…?” Victor pretended to think about it.

Yuuri turned away. Victor could see a slew of emotions, fear and excitement and happiness, pass through his face. And something else, something fleeting and quiet-

“Alright. Why don’t you work for me? Think of it as my gratitude for returning Makkachin, safe and sound.” _What better way to keep him right where I want him._ Victor’s easy grin was the only thing that showed of his thoughts. In actuality, he was definitely intrigued. It was always such a great experience to find someone who was passionate about something, and interesting enough to keep up with Victor Nikiforov’s ever-changing whims. Not many people, not even Yakov, could do that, but Yuuri was keeping up amazingly well. Victor decided then and there that he would use the Makkachin Cafe as a way to know Yuuri better. What he’d glimpsed, just with these few hours of interaction, was enough to hook him in. Victor had seen a confident Yuuri, had seen a shy Yuuri, a melancholic Yuuri...and he was hungry to know more.

“Hmm!?” Yuuri looked up in shock. “Hired?”

“You can cook.” Victor ticked the list off on his fingers. “You like dogs. You’re good with Makkachin. And you can speak and read Japanese way better than I can. You’re qualified. So you’re hired.”

Yuuri’s face looked conflicted. “But-”

“Of course,” Victor corrected hastily. “If you would rather just take the prize money as listed on the poster, I wouldn’t mind either-”

“No!” Yuuri yelped, and then gulped at how loudly that came out. “No, as in, I mean, I don’t really want the money. I’m glad I was able to help you out, really, and I don’t need to be paid for it. I was just considering your offer and I’m just a little...I’m a student, so I don’t know if I could work frequently.”

“A student, huh.” Victor tapped a finger against his lips. “What are you studying?”

“I’m going to culinary school,” Yuuri admitted. “Trying to turn my love for food into a career, of course.”

“Isn’t this the perfect way to start up your career then? Job experience. You can work part-time. This cafe is going to have a slow start anyway.”

“I haven’t even….registered for classes yet.” Yuuri looked very, very tempted. Victor was nudging him, prodding him, coaxing him right over the edge of temptation.

“Ah, classes.” Victor pretended to take that into consideration, even though, judging by the look on Yuuri’s face, the Japanese man wasn’t even considering classes. Not really. “Wait. Are you going into your studies as an undergrad or-”

“A grad student,” Yuuri quickly replied.

Victor laughed. “And how many units are you taking for your courses?”

Victor watched as the realization slowly dawned on Yuuri’s face. Grad students usually meant less class time, in order for the students to accommodate for jobs. It would be the perfect arrangement, and Yuuri was starting to realize that Victor was actually, seriously offering him a job. It was a little out of the blue, even Victor understood. After all, the two of them had only met this early morning. But then again, a lot has happened since then; Makkachin had almost given Yuuri a grievous injury (bless his playful doggy heart), the two of them had cooked together, ate together, cleaned together…

In front of him, Yuuri was doing a little shuffling dance of indecision.

“I’m still settling in Tokyo.” Yuuri admits. “And I need to get everything sorted out. Plus...I’m not really sure what to specialize in. I really like...I really like cooking Japanese style bento and rice dishes, but I would need to devote more time into getting that authentic flavor down pat-”

“Okay,” Victor holds his hands up in a gesture of pleasant surrender. “Take your time to think about it. But you know, to be very honest with you, I enjoy your company and would like to helm this whole ‘dog cafe’ operation with you, if you have the time to spare us.”  

“That’s…” Yuuri’s face reddened. Victor’s grin grew wider. _I almost have him._

“Come on, Yuuri. You’ll be one of my first close friends here in Tokyo. It’ll be fun, I guarantee it. See, even Makkachin agrees.” Next to him, Makkachin’s head perked up upon hearing his name. The poodle’s tail flicked lazily and Makkachin trotted over to butt his head into Yuuri’s hand.

And of course, Yuuri falls right over the edge.

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “I’ll take the job. But...but give me a little time to sort things out and register and settle-”

“No problem,” Victor soothed. “Glad to have you on board though.”

And even Victor was surprised when that nagging uncertainty in his chest loosened up a bit upon seeing Yuuri’s grateful smile.

::x::

By the time Yuuri was shrugging on his jacket and getting ready to head out into the snow-covered pavements of Tokyo, the sun was starting to dip below the distant horizon and the city was sinking into dim shades of gray.

Victor was getting Makkachin all dressed up, pulling a dog-sized jacket over his furry head and tying a little knot to the end of the jacket zipper to have a makeshift collar for the leash clip to.

With a jolt, Victor realized how badly he missed this walk routine. In the one, Makkachin-less week that Victor had suffered through, Victor had forgone the comfortable routine that had so anchored him into a sense of belonging in this strange, foreign city that he had settled in on a whim. Losing Makkachin meant losing half of himself.

In this sense, he would eternally be grateful to Katsuki Yuuri. Strangers or not, Victor owed him.

Offering Yuuri a job in this cafe didn’t nearly come close enough to repaying the debt.

“Thank you, again.” Victor said, edging closer to Yuuri and sticking his hand out for a handshake. “I- Makkachin would still be out there, lost and confused, if it weren’t for you.”

“It’s no problem.” Yuuri’s lips curved upwards, smoothly, and Victor frowned, realizing that they were chapped and dry.

Yuuri zipped up his jacket, adjusted his glasses and shook out his hair before pulling on a beanie.

Victor resisted the strange urge to walk up to him and brush him down, to reach up to the collar of his jacket and straighten it. To dig into his pockets for lip balm, and to swipe some onto Yuuri’s lips. Victor wondered, dangerously, how Yuuri’s lips would look glossed and smooth.

“Ah, I actually have a suggestion.” Yuuri had one hand on the door handle, turning back to give Victor a last, earnest parting look. “You should partner up with a shelter, if you want to make this into a dog cafe. I think it would be nice to give love to the pups who need it.”

“Good idea,” Victor said absentmindedly.

Victor was still staring at the door long after Yuuri strode out confidently into the swirls of snow and disappeared around the corner, his hand limp around Makkachin’s leash until his dog reminded him of the promised walk with a gentle tug.

::x::

Victor led them on a familiar path that evening, looping around some nearby apartments and into the local park. Victor found himself looking up and wondering if one of those lonely apartment lights, blinking yellow against the grey cement, belonged to Yuuri. He did mention something about living close to the cafe...

A ball bounced past and Makkachin strained at the leash. Victor had to hold Makkachin back from chasing after the rubber ball and watching as a group of children jogged over in search of it. The kids, fearless in their youth, diverted their attention to the large poodle instead, leaving one of their hovering parents to pick up the abandoned toy. Makkachin spent a happy few minutes being softly stroked by hesitant little hands, diving into piles of snow and coming out with his fur coated in white powder, before trotting proudly into the middle of the group of children and shaking it all out. A chorus of laughter trailed after the dog’s antics as the children ducked and dived away from the dog’s snow sprays. Victor was left standing protectively over the whole fiasco, his hands carefully always on some part of Makkachin’s leash.

After a while, the children’s parents walked over from where they were chatting at the edge of the playground, and one by one the park was emptied out. Makkachin dutifully played with the last of them, licking their faces and chasing his tail, withstanding little fluffs of soft snow that the children would accidentally pat into his fur until even the most stubborn of children were picked up by their protective parents.

And after the last of them were gone, Victor prompted Makkachin over with a whistle and the two of them wrestled each other in the fresh-fallen snow, Victor heart aching at how much he missed having Makkachin’s warm, heavy weight on his torso. It was a good kind of ache, because Makkachin was right here, licking eagerly at his face and pawing at his chest. Victor laughed and laughed and laughed, watching puffs of his warm breath being lifted into the air in faint white clouds, taking his stress and worries and the last of his loneliness with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who took the time to read, leave a kudos and/or leave a comment for the previous chapter! You guys definitely keep me going, and it's always an absolute delight to read your thoughts on my writing. 
> 
> Soulmate AU is a go! I'm currently writing it, so stay tuned for any updates on that particular endeavor. In the meantime, please enjoy this next chapter~
> 
> (Also psst, our favorite smol Russian punk is going to make an appearance soon...)


	5. Tonkotsu Ramen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makkachin saves the day, yet again, and Yuuri finds that Victor and his faithful poodle seems to have a habit of meeting him when he's in a bad spot. It must be fate. Still, Yuuri's hardly complaining. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Phichit meets the bundle of joy that is Yuri Plisetsky.

_ Damn. I forgot to ask for his number… _

Yuuri blushed at the thought. What would it be like to ask Victor Nikiforov for his number? Would that have been too ballsy a move? How close were they, really? They had, in effect, spent one day together with each other; playing with Makkachin together, cooking together, sharing a meal together, cleaning together...Yuuri smiled as he thought of Victor with the sponge stuck to his face and soap suds sprinkled over his clothes. 

Whatever had happened, it was fun. And Yuuri wants it to happen again. 

Reaching his apartment door, Yuuri fumbled the keys out of his coat pocket and slipped it into the lock. The lock was stubborn. Yuuri found himself absently fighting with the lock as he continued to probe his mind for more memories of the past day. His replaying everything that happened in the past day made him wonder if he’d maybe accidentally inhaled something and hallucinated the whole thing. His heart was still hiccuping from seeing his idol up close, and the fact that they actually sat and ate facing each other and drank coffee and talked about life things... _ wow, whatever it is that I might have gotten high off of? I want some more of that.  _

His phone rang, and Yuuri yelped in surprise. 

Yuuri fumbled, reaching in his bag and groping for the phone, at the same time struggling to turn the knob. He got his phone to his ear and dropped his keys at the same time, resulting in him letting out a torrent of half-hearted swearwords right as the call was connected. 

Silence from the other end. 

“Oh my God,” Yuuri squeaked. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to- please don’t be the college admissions team…” 

“Fuck you too!” Phichit laughed in reply. “Is that how you greet a friend? 

_ Exhale.  _ Yuuri shuddered with relief. “Phichit! Thank God.” 

“What’s gotten you so flustered?” Phichit voice was light with curiosity. “You don’t usually swear, Yuuri.” 

“It’s my stupid door. It won’t open and the key is jammed. Plus, I had kind of a long, weird day, is all.” 

“Weird? In what way?” Phichit’s voice was equal parts sympathy and mischievous curiosity. Yuuri hummed warily, stalling. 

“Weird in a good way,” Yuuri amended, and Phichit let out a scandalized gasp. 

“Who did you fall in love with this time?!” Phichit giggled as Yuuri let out various noises of protest and jiggled the key harder. It rattled dangerously in the lock. “What do they look like? Guy or girl? Tell me, come on!”

“Phichit, I told you, I don’t really fall in love with people. I just...what do you call it, admire them for their good looks.” 

“Same difference. Are they good lookin’ or what?” 

“Well actually he….agh, there’s really...it’s a really long story, I’ll have to sit down with you and tell you in person…” 

“Stop stalling! Come on man, you can tell me anything. I can keep a secret, I promise.” 

“Okay fine but first...this dratted key...damn it, this thing really won’t budge- OH SHIT.” 

Yuuri remembered to pull the phone away from his ear before he let out a wail and held up a metal stub that had once been his apartment key. The other half of the key, the useful jagged edge, was currently jammed in the door. His key had snapped cleanly in half. 

Phichit’s tinny voice came from his mobile. “Yuuri what’s up? What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri said. He sounded miserable. “But my key isn’t. I’m so screwed, Phichit…” 

::x::

It was a little past 9 pm. Too late to call for a replacement, the landlord told him, and it was just Yuuri’s luck that his key was the only one that didn’t have a spare because the previous tenant had lost it. Instead, the landlord pointed him at some hotels in the nearby area and left Yuuri to deal with the mess himself. If Yuuri was paying any more for the shoddy apartment, he might’ve gotten angry, but since he couldn’t afford to lose this place and his family was already under enough financial strain in letting him study in Tokyo, Yuuri decided to keep his mouth shut. Miserably, he found himself turned out onto the cold streets, and he made his way to a nearby park just to keep himself occupied. Slipping onto the nearest bench, he resisted the urge to put his head in his hands and sob. 

_ Just when I was starting to think my luck was turning around... _ Life played him good. 

Phichit called him almost immediately. 

“What happened, in the end?” 

It was as if Phichit could sense when Yuuri needed someone to talk to. 

“Got locked out.” Yuuri sighed, heavy, watching as his breath misted in front of him. “The dumb key jammed itself into the lock and snapped, so I couldn’t open the door.” 

“Damn. That’s some shit luck.” 

“Tell me about it,” Yuuri replied glumly. He scuffed his shoe into a little pile of snow at the base of the bench.

“When’s it going to be fixed?” 

“Not until tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck, that’s rough! Do you want to come over to stay at my place? Do you have anywhere to go?” 

_ No, I don’t have anywhere to go.  _ Yuuri’s face burned as he realized how pathetic he sounded. This was the problem, being in a big city with nobody that he really knew. He could technically go to Phichit’s apartment, but Phichit lived halfway across the city, way closer to the university that they were both to enroll in soon, and Yuuri didn’t particularly feel like making the journey. 

Instead, he forcibly injected some cheer into his voice. “Nah, thanks for the offer but I can probably deal on my own. I booked a room at a hotel nearby so I can be on site when the locksmith arrives tomorrow.” 

“You sure?” Phichit sounded uncertain. “It’s really no trouble, Yuuri, I’ve got some extra sheets and clothes you can change into. It must be cold.” 

“No worries!” Yuuri laughed. “I can manage.” 

“If you say so. But call me if you need anything at all, promise me.” Phichit still sounded as if he didn’t really believe him. Yuuri appreciated his friend’s concern, but he really didn’t want help right now, not when he was feeling like a grade A failure and miserable about his situation. His own mood could get dragged down; there’s no reason he had to bring Phichit down as well. 

“I promise,” Yuuri lied. 

::x::

It was a small, deserted park. The snow, though light and fluffy, had piled quickly on the ground. Everything was covered in a thin layer of powder white; it was beautiful in a chilling kind of way. Yuuri turned his head skywards and watched as the flecks of white danced through the air, pinpricks against the dark canvas of the night.

He hunched himself on the bench. Sometimes, the homeless would frequent this park and sleep on the benches; surely one night wouldn’t be so bad? Even so, Yuuri was already shivering. His teeth were chattering, and the cold of the long exposure to the winter chill sank deep into his bones.  _ How long am I going to last out here? I should go look at some of the hotels. Mom probably won’t mind me spending the money...it’s only for one night.  _ Yuuri willed himself to stand, but he couldn’t move. 

_ What kind of son am I. What kind of son am I to keep asking for my parent’s money to fix my mistakes?  _

First it was his ambitions to become a ballet dancer. After Vicchan died and Yuuri began to gain weight at an alarming rate, he dropped the sport because he could no longer physically or mentally keep up with the competition. And then it was college in Detroit, where Yuuri cycled through majors because he was indecisive; first psychology then business then hospitality then art and finally back to business. That had stacked another year onto his originally four-year degree, making his parents scramble to fork out the money. Fat load of good that did him, because he decided to apply for cooking school anyway, chasing the last thread of a dream that he still had. He had argued with Mari then, that if he went to culinary school, combined with his business know-how, he would at least be able to help mom out with running Yutopia. 

And then he came to Tokyo, thinking he could finally make it big, thinking he could be independent away from his family even though he was solely dependent on their money to come here in the first place. Selfish, unprepared and alone. 

All that got him is here, sitting on the bench in a park after hours, wondering if he should fork over the inevitable 5000 yen that would be one night in a claustrophobic capsule hotel.

Behind him, in the park, there was a distant peal of laughter. It poked holes in his already fragile, plummeting mood, and Yuuri hunched over and curled his arms around himself, suddenly unable to breathe. It was the same feeling that he got whenever he was switching into a panic mode, whenever he was stuck where he was, negativity swirling in his mind, fear consuming his heart, and Yuuri could do nothing but grasp at something,  _ anything  _ to anchor him to the present so that he wouldn’t be swept away by the anxiety corroding his body.

“-kkachin, heel! Heel, you naughty dog!” 

Something warm scrambled up onto the bench next to him and squirmed into his hold. Two bright eyes, a soft wet nose and an eager puppy tongue all but shoved itself in to his line of sight. 

“Makkachin,” Yuuri acknowledged, his mind blank with wonder.  _ How did… _ and that was as far as he got before the dog started wiggling and licking him, snuggling into his chest. 

The dam broke and his emotions came flooding through. 

Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s dog and cried into the warm fur. 

::x::

Wherever Makkachin goes, Victor was never far behind. 

One moment he was wrestling with Makkachin in the snow, the next he found that the makeshift leash had unravelled from the dog jacket and Makkachin had gone bolting off. Then the fear, sharp and unyielding, had jammed itself into his heart like a knife slipping in between his ribs, and Victor found himself pelting after his dog, hollering at the top of his lungs. He can’t lose Makkachin again, not when he just got his dog back. He can’t. He really can’t, he wouldn’t be able to-

Victor kept his gaze fixed on the gray tuft that was his dog, slowing when he realized that Makkachin was currently attacking someone on a bench. With a groan, Victor sprinted up to his dog.

“Makkachin, how many times have I told you not to…” Victor’s voice trailed off. 

Makkachin had found Yuuri again. But this time, Yuuri was…

Yuuri was sobbing into Makkachin’s fur, his whole body shaking with the effort of containing his cries. Unsure of what to do, Victor wrung his hands and wished, for the first time in his life, that he was Makkachin instead of an internationally famous, run-away Russian model who definitely wasn’t good with people crying in front of him. 

He sat on Yuuri’s right, carefully avoiding Makkachin’s whisking tail. 

“Yuuri?” His voice was soft, hesitant.  _ Would he even want to talk to me right now?  _ After all, they were still strangers. 

Yuuri turned his face upwards to look at Victor in response, and Victor’s expression fell. 

Yuuri was a mess. His hair was mussed, most of it slicked back and half-frozen with the snow. Victor might’ve even approved of the new hairstyle had he not been so focused on the downturn of Yuuri’s mouth and the dark of despair in Yuuri’s brown eyes. This afternoon, Victor thought glumly, those very eyes were bright and filled with life and potential. Instead, they now filled with tears, streaking down Yuuri’s pale cheeks and dripping onto Makkachin’s curly coat. It became very clear to Victor that Yuuri was shaking not only from the force of his crying, but also because of the cold. 

“Is it okay if I hug you?” Victor blurted. Instinctively, he knew it was the right thing to say.

That stopped the tears, at least, if not because of the implication of the words but because of the shock of hearing them. Yuuri looked up, and then nodded, almost imperceptibly, and so Victor took the chance. 

He wrapped his arms around the smaller Japanese man, Makkachin trapped between the two of them, and felt Yuuri’s tense body ease with a sigh. It took a little bit, but he felt the younger man’s hands wrap itself around his torso hesitantly, and he smiled. 

Maybe he wasn’t so bad with comforting crying people after all. 

::x::

“Do you want to talk about it?” Victor asked, after they broke the hug. Yuuri leaned back, putting more space between the two of them than Victor would’ve liked.  _ He looks cute even when he cries.  _ Victor savagely kills that line of thought before it could go any further and instead fixes a calm smile onto his face in hopes that it would lift Yuuri’s spirits. 

Yuuri was still sniffling, but the expression on his face was more embarrassment than anything else, which Victor took as a sign of improvement. 

“Oh my God,” Yuuri waved helplessly at the tear stains on the shoulder of Victor’s jacket. “I’m so sorry about-” 

Victor waved it off. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll dry.” 

Yuuri huffed quietly, and the two of them sat in silence for a bit, watching the steam coming out of their mouths. For a moment, it almost felt as if there didn’t need to be any words between the two of them. The silence spoke for itself. With an almost reluctant fondness, Victor realized that this was probably what it felt like to have a friend’s shoulder to cry on. Support that didn’t need any verbal acknowledgement. 

The other problem now was that Yuuri was shaking in the cold. Victor himself was fine because of his playing with Makkachin and sprinting around, but Yuuri had no doubt been sitting on this bench for a while now. Case in point, there was snow building up on seats of the bench next to him already, but the younger man must not have noticed due to the force of his misery just a moment before. Which, by the way, Victor was still curious about, but even a man as insensitive as he could be sometimes, he recognized that Yuuri was probably not willing to talk about it for now. 

Instead, Victor invited Yuuri to dinner. 

“Why don’t we go find a nearby restaurant and hang out in there for a while? And then we can talk...or not talk, if you don’t want to, but if I can help, I’d like to.” 

Yuuri bit his lips and again, Victor was filled with the urge to run his fingers over those chapped lips.  _ To apply a little bit of lip balm, _ his mind amended hastily.  _ That’s all.  _

“I do know…” Yuuri sighed. “I know a good ramen place nearby, if you like that kind of food.” 

“I do like food,” Victor confirmed. “Lead the way.” 

::x::

They smelt it before they saw it; the rich aroma of pork bone soup and the promise of soft meats and stringy noodles. Victor had considered walking with one arm wrapped around Katsuki Yuuri’s shivering form, but was rapidly realizing that there was a time and place for things, and right now it wasn’t best to be full on flirting with the (admittedly,  _ very cute _ ) Japanese stranger that he just so happened to have hung out with today, and then find crying on the park bench late evening. 

Makkachin, on the other hand, was all smiles at the smell of delicious food. Victor had re-tied the makeshift leash, promising himself that he would get another leash as soon as possible, and was keeping a fond eye on his dog. Makkachin kept on tilting his snout to the sky to scent the air, tail wagging at the hope of having slips of meat shared with him. Victor ruffled Makkachin’s head and was rewarded with a quick lick of his hand. Makkachin, for all his mischievous ways, seems to always be in the right place at the right time. Victor decided to forgive his poodle for slipping the leash and giving him another half heart attack just this once. 

Once they were seated and Yuuri had ordered for the two of them (though there was a quiet moment where Victor had determinedly studied the menu only to admit that he couldn’t read anything), only then did Victor lean to look at Yuuri expectantly. 

Yuuri grumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Now that I think back to it, it’s a really embarrassing story.” 

Victor highly doubted that something as mild as ‘embarrassing’ would cause a full on mental breakdown in the park, but then again Victor also knew someone called Georgi, so he wisely kept his mouth shut and only nodded encouragingly in Yuuri’s direction. 

The noodles were served, two bowls of steaming tonkotsu ramen. The broth itself was a rich cream, the noodles coiled neatly, half-submerged in the tantalizing soup. On top, three thin slices of pork fanned over the noodles, sprinkled with spring onions and dotted with sesame seeds. The inner rim of the bowl were garnished with mounds of bean sprouts, bamboo shoots. In the middle sits half an egg, the liquid yolk glistening.  

“Vkusno!” Victor cheered loudly, causing Yuuri to jump. 

“Actually, Victor, I got locked out of my apartment and I panicked and I realized that I didn’t have money to pay for a hotel room overnight and the only friend I can go to for help lives halfway across the city and I can’t afford to go there because the locksmith is coming early tomorrow morning at who knows what time and I don’t know what to do and did I mention that I panicked.” Yuuri’s words came out in a confused tumble. 

Victor hummed thoughtfully, careful not to focus on the expression of mortification that was slowly creeping across Yuuri’s face. Instead, he snapped his chopsticks and focused on fishing out some noodles. 

“Um, you’re holding them wrong.” Yuuri’s face was still flushed when he leaned over and wrapped his hand around Victor’s. “You hold them like this, with your thumb...yeah, that’s better, and you put your fingers right here to support it...yeah.” 

“Thank you,” Victor laughed. His mind lingered, on the confidence that was slowly leaking back into Yuuri’s posture and words, and the feeling of Yuuri’s fingertips lingering on his hand. He was almost certain the disappointment showed when Yuuri pulled away, so he settled for a sheepish grin. “Now I can finally dig in properly.” 

Yuuri nods and turns to his own noodles. 

Makkachin pawed at his leg, so Victor carefully picks up one slice of meat and drops it into Makkachin’s waiting mouth. Makkachin huffed and licked his lips, his tail wagging so hard it was practically whisking Victor’s trousers. Makkachin tried the same tactic again, but Victor had brought the second piece of meat to his mouth and was relishing the warmth and the foreign flavors that were blooming across his tongue. 

Makkachin, recognizing that his owner wasn’t going to share anymore, instead turned his puppy eyes to Yuuri.

Yuuri, in turn, swiveled to face him. “Can I-...” 

Victor waved him an affirmative and was amused to see that Makkachin managed to steal not one but all three pieces of pork from Yuuri by putting his big, brown puppy-dog eyes to good use. 

“You spoil him, Yuuri,” Victor smirked. 

“Good dog,” Yuuri whispered, leaning down to pat Makkachin’s curly fur. 

_ Good dog indeed.  _ Victor waited until Yuuri had straightened and was finally tucking in himself before saying: “As for a solution to your problem, why don’t you come sleep over at my apartment tonight?” 

Yuuri choked. 

::x::

Halfway across the city, Phichit was strolling out of a grocery store with a bag full of cup ramen and a few spontaneous ingredients (on some days, he just really wanted to see what grilled squid would taste like with peanut butter, what a weird craving) when a hooded teen bumped into him. 

“Sorry!” He threw that phrase cheerily, confidently at the teenager. Phichit’s Japanese still wasn’t all that great, but ‘sorry’ was one of the necessities.

The teenager threw his hood down and turned to look at Phichit, and Phichit was startled to see strands of silky blond hair and two sharp, emerald eyes staring him down. Though Tokyo certainly wasn’t a stranger to foreign visitors, it was rare that Phichit found one wandering around so late after dark. Usually, all the tourists would have succumbed to the comfort of the hotel rooms or would be on the prowl for some late-night dining and entertainment, not sulking around street-corner grocery stores and glaring angrily at the locals. 

“You...okay?” Phichit asked, this time in English. 

The teen mumbled something, and Phichit leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” 

“Do you know where-” The teen was saying, and then his phone rang. The teen let out a torrent of Russian curse words and snatched the phone out his pocket. 

::x::

Yakov was screaming something about Yuri running away to Tokyo just like Victor, and Yuri really couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I AM HERE TO MAKE VICTOR ACKNOWLEDGE HIS PROMISE TO ME!” He shrieked into the phone. 

Beside him, the stranger that had stayed to watch the show was gaping at him. Yuri didn’t give a single. Fucking. Damn. 

“I. Am not. Returning to Russia. Until that happens!” Yuri let out a final growl for good measure and then hung up on Yakov. It felt good...but Yuri also knew that he was probably seriously screwed once he set foot back in Russian soil. Hopefully, when that happened, Yakov would have more of a bone to pick with Victor than him. 

Whirling on the stranger, Yuri poked a hand at the stranger’s chest. 

“You,” he growled in heavily accented English. “Do you know where Victor Nikiforov is? If you don’t know, then you’re useless and you should get out of  _ my way. _ ”

The stranger held his hands up in the universal ‘woah there’ gesture. “I don’t know where he is,” The stranger said hesitantly. “But I have a friend who’s a big fan of his, maybe he’ll know. Especially if Victor’s in Tokyo...” 

“Take me to him then.” Yuri demanded. He’d dropped his luggage off at the hotel, but he didn’t give a damn. The sooner he could get to Victor, the better. 

“Okay,” The stranger soothed. “How about I give you my number and I can call you if I ever-...”

“We meet up tomorrow,” Yuri continued. “And we look for Victor together, so I can tell if you or your shitty friend is lying.” 

“Don’t call him shitty,” Phichit said, still smiling. Yuri felt a chill pass through him as Phichit moved to clasp a friendly hand on his shoulder. “And of course! We’ll definitely be happy to help.” 

“D...Don’t go back on your word then,” Yuri snarled, trying not to pay too much attention to the hand on his shoulder. 

“Pinky promise!” Phichit sang, swinging his hand away and practically skipping down the street. “See you tomorrow, shorty.” 

“See you-...what the  _ fuck  _ did you just call me?” Yuri whirled, but the stranger was already too far down the street to chase, and Yuri was too jet-lagged to run anyway. Right now, all he wanted was the comfort of his pre-made hotel bed and maybe the childish satisfaction of spending his allowance on room service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waagh, sorry for the late update and relatively sporadic update schedule! Life got into the way and I'm still so behind on schoolwork but I'll figure something out...
> 
> As always, thanks for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks! Knowing that I had fans waiting on this next chapter really motivated me to finish it. Hope you enjoy this installment! 
> 
> //P.S. I'm sorry I didn't have time to reply to every comment on the previous chapter. Rest assured that I read each and every one of them and I wholeheartedly thank everyone who's chosen to support this silly hobby of mine! Once I finish my exams, I'll probably get back to replying to all the comments. In the meantime, sit tight and enjoy the updates!
> 
> //P.P.S For those of you who are following my Soulmate AU, I do have the next chapter ready, I'm just editing it a little. It'll be up soon :)


	6. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is quick to find that secrets are often revealed and/or suspected during very, very platonic hot chocolate drinking sessions and sleepover parties.

Yuuri’s phone rang as he was stripping in Victor’s bathroom.

Yuuri jumped, and then snatched the phone up. Was it an emergency from home? It was 1 am in the morning! _Phichit,_ the screen read, and Yuuri let out a groan.

Victor banged on the door to the bathroom, and Yuuri jumped _again._ “Everything okay in there, Yuuri?”

“Yes, yes, everything okay!” Yuuri replied hastily. He heard Victor chuckle and waited for Victor’s footsteps to fade before picking up the phone.

“Phichit...it’s 11 pm…”

“Okay but _hear me out.”_ Phichit’s voice sounded on the verge of giggles, which was how it always got whenever he was excited about something. _This better be good_ , Yuuri groaned mentally, tapping his foot anxiously. He was currently standing, _naked_ , in Victor’s apartment. The celebrity crush that he’s had since his teenage years? Yeah, that Victor.

That, along with Phichit’s ability to somehow sense anything to do with Yuuri and said embarrassing celebrity crushes…

Yuuri caught the growing blush in his reflection in the mirror and hastily turned his mind away from embarrassing ninth grade poster collection mishaps. _I just really don’t want to hold up Victor’s bathroom. He probably wants a bath after playing with Makkachin in the park for so long..._ Which brought Yuuri to the mental image of Victor in the bath.

_Also naked._

Yuuri smacked himself in the cheek.

“You still there, Yuuri?” Phichit’s voice was tinny, buried in the incoherent freak-out that was currently running through Yuuri’s mind like a rap radio station on steroids. Yuuri let out a vague noise of confirmation and barely avoided just straight up screaming into the phone.

Phichit took a deep breath and then let it all out in once sentence: “You are not going to believe this, okay, but your _idol is in Tokyo._ ”

Silence on Yuuri’s end.

Phichit took that silence to mean a happy state of shock and so he plowed on with sheer exhilaration. “I don’t know why, but apparently, your favorite model, Victor Nikiforov, is _in Tokyo._ That’s where we live! That’s where _you_ live, Yuuri! You could literally bump into him on the street! Isn’t that cool? Aren’t you excited?”

 _Oh my God,_ Yuuri was thinking. _Phichit is never going to let me live this down._

“Do you know where he is, by the way?” Phichit continued.

“What?” Yuuri squawked.

“It’s just...I had this weird encounter,” Phichit lowered his voice to a whisper. “I met this really pissed of fifteen-year-old looking for Victor in Tokyo, and he speaks Russian so I bet he’s probably Victor’s...I don’t know, illegitimate son or something? Maybe? His eye color is wrong though, it’s like green, but yeah anyway, I told him that if anyone knew where he was, then it would be you.”

 _What?_ Yuuri squawked, but this time in his mind.

“Oh my god, Phichit.” The problem was that Yuuri actually _did know, exactly, where Victor is_.

“Well, if you hear anything, let me know! Otherwise, we’ll ciao ciao for now. Keep me posted, bestie!” With an elated chortle, Phichit hung up, leaving Yuuri to stare at his own reflection in the mirror and wonder just how much he must’ve fucked up in his previous life to be caught in such a drama in this one.

::x::

“Yuuri! You took so long in the bathroom, the hot chocolate got co-” Victor cut his sentence off with a splutter and wobbled worriedly. Makkachin, currently pacing around his owner’s feet like a worried old man, let out two barks when he saw brown liquid threatening to slosh over the sides of the mugs that Victor was balancing.

Victor was staring, so Yuuri started to shuffle self-consciously. He glanced down at the (designer) sweater that Victor had graciously lent him. Yuuri had kicked up a huge fuss about possibly stretching it (his katsudon belly was _no joke_ ) but Victor had assured him that it would fit. Now that Victor seemed lost for words, Yuuri frantically searched himself to make sure there was nothing wrong. In fact, the sweater did seem to fit rather well on him; it was bigger than Yuuri had expected, and he’d been too distracted with wondering whether the sweater smelled like Victor, really, to notice if it was showing his belly at all.

It wasn’t, by the way, which was an absolute blessing. Yuuri made a mental note to check if his gym membership was still valid, still eyeing Victor warily.

What a time to be worried about his figure.

“It looks good on you,” Victor said cheerily. The compliment sounded genuine, delivered with Victor’s usual bubbly cheer and a warm smile. Victor took a quick swig from one of the mugs, as if to swallow anything else that might come out of his mouth, and Yuuri raised an eyebrow when he saw the words _World’s Shittiest ‘Dad’_ in tacky lettering printed onto the ceramic. The quotation marks were drawn on in fading sharpie marks.

 _Illegitimate son,_ Phichit’s words rang in his mind.

Yuuri felt his stress levels slowly rising.

::x::

“How’s the drink?” Victor asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

No answer from his supposed conversation partner, though Makkachin loyally lifted his head at the sound of Victor’s voice, wagging his tail expectantly. Victor leaned back on the sofa that he was currently sharing with Yuuri and scratched his eager dog under the chin. Makkachin made a hearty attempt to haul himself up on the sofa to settle between the two men, but Victor waved him off.

“Down, boy,” He muttered in Russian.

Yuuri had slowly zoned out in the past fifteen minutes, leaving Victor to wonder whether he’d done something wrong. _Maybe my hot chocolate sucks so much that he doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore?_ That line of thought disheartened him. How on Earth is he going to open a cafe if he can’t even make a decent instant drink? And he’d even added marshmallows to possibly increase happiness level; a quick glance at Yuuri’s cup told him that Yuuri hadn’t even noticed. The marshmallows bobbed listlessly in his mug.

Yuuri was sipping absentmindedly at the now cold drink, a light frown on his face like he was mulling a math problem over and over and he couldn’t get the numbers to add up right.

Well this was turning out to be just about the best sleepover party ever.

Just when Victor was going to turn on the television to put some background noise on, Yuuri turned suddenly to fix an intense stare on his face.

Startled, Victor reeled back. “What?” _Is there something on my face? Is it a wrinkle? Oh dear Lord...has he noticed my receding hairline?!_

“Do you have any illegitimate children, by any chance?” Yuuri blurted.

And for a ridiculous second, Victor was actually relieved.

And then the question registered in his mind.

::x::

“Wait,” Victor narrowed his eyes, and Yuuri immediately felt himself shrinking into the couch.

 _Oh boy,_ Yuuri’s mind geared itself for a rant, a confrontation, anything _terrible_ that Victor could throw at him. His idol had, in the span of less than 48 hours, seen him eat really gross fatty food, sob on a park bench in the middle of nowhere, get kicked out of his own apartment for something stupid out of his control...how much lamer could Katsuki Yuuri get?

 _Here it comes._ Yuuri thought numbly. _The inevitable. He’s going to realize that he spent the better part of his day talking to an absolute nobody and then he’s going to make me take off the sweater and then I’m going to be chased out of his home and I won’t even be able to finish his crummy hot chocolate or play with Makkachin ever again and then he’s going to shame me on Twi-_

“Yuuri, do you read gossip magazines?”

“Um.” Yuuri said. His brain short-circuited, so he took a huge gulp of his hot chocolate and choked it down. In front of him, Victor was looking at him with a vaguely serious expression. There was a hint of nervous, wary energy in those bright blue eyes of his, as if there was something that he was expecting Yuuri to say, but at the same time was fearful of hearing it.

_Was Phichit telling the truth? Does Victor Nikiforov really have an illegitimate child?_

“Um,” Yuuri tried again. “I don’t really...read those kinds of magazine?” _Not unless they feature you, of course. But those are kind of hard to find since they’re almost exclusively in Russian…_

Victor leaned back into the couch and sighed. Makkachin took this opportunity to worm his way onto Yuuri’s lap, tail wagging hard. Distracted, Yuuri ran his fingers through the curly coffee fur. Makkachin licked his hand and yipped. Yuuri laughed and scooted over to let the pooch onto the couch without thinking...until his thigh brushed against Victor’s.

“Oh ack, I am so sorry…” Yuuri shifted to stand.

“Yuuri, do you know what I did for a living?” Victor said softly.

“You mean besides trying to open up a dog cafe?” Yuuri answered quickly. A jolt of guilt shimmied up his spine, but he could hardly tell Victor that he had followed him on all social media so closely that it probably bordered an obsession.

Victor must’ve read something in Yuuri’s expression, because the Russian’s mouth quirked into a small smile.

“I don’t suppose it matters if you knew or not, but I’m - was, rather - I was a model for Russian magazines.” There was something wistful and painful in his voice, an undercurrent of wavery emotion that Yuuri could tell Victor was trying hard to suppress. How could he not recognize it when he heard it in his own voice every day?

“Ah,” Yuuri murmured. “I think I’ve seen you on some magazine covers before.”

Victor chuckled. “Yes, yes. I do believe I did a collaboration shoot with a Japanese designer before…”

“Right! With Tae Ashida, back in 2014, the blue leather jacket series.” Yuuri remembered that issue; Victor had made the front page of the Japanese fashion magazines, posing with said blue leather jacket draped over his shoulders, gracefully crossed legs and a dark smolder thrown straight at the camera. It’d been a nightmare trying to get his hands on one of the issues, and in the end he’d ended up camping out at a 24 hour convenience store, waiting for them to restock the copies and rushing in first thing in the morning to snag one for himself.

Victor let out a small, surprised noise, and Yuuri jumped, startled.

“So you do kno-”

“Agh no I mean the- the…It was, you know, a big deal because...erh….like...um...you really totally stood out and your charisma...um...the T.V...,” There was no hot chocolate left for him to save himself, so Yuuri buried his face in Makkachin’s soft fur, mortified.

Beside him, Victor was trembling. _Oh my God,_ Yuuri gulped. _I think I made him angry._

Yuuri exhaled shakily into Makkachin’s back. Makkachin let out an answering huff, his tail wagging hard and whacking Yuuri repeatedly in the back.

And then Victor double over and _laughed_ , joyous and free. He laughed hard enough to make him double over and clutch his stomach.

Yuuri sat up and waved his hands frantically, apologizing in Japanese, and then in English, and then back in Japanese again, hardly aware of what he was saying.

Victor kept laughing, sitting up to draw gasps of air into his deprived lungs, shuddering and unsightly like a fish out of water, before he caught the look on Yuuri’s face again and was sent helplessly into another round of pure, uncontrollable giggles.

Yuuri gaped and whimpered, really lost about what to do.

“Oh Yuuri,” Victor said in between gasps. “I never would’ve taken you for a fan!”

“So what if I am?” Yuuri said, getting all defensive and prickly. Next to him, Makkachin had decided to drape his long body right over Yuuri’s back and was wriggling his butt to try and clamber over Yuuri altogether to reach his gasping owner.

“So what if I’m kind of a fan of yours?” Yuuri said, barely registering that his face was growing extremely hot. “I like the brands you model for and I like seeing your face on the magazines, that’s all! There’s nothing wrong with that at all! My friends really like your photos as well!”

That part was half true. Minako had been the one to introduce Yuuri to the world of high fashion and Victor when she brought home a Vogue issue that covered fashion inspired by ballerina poses and costumes, and Victor just so happened to be on the cover of that one. Yuuko was kind enough to go with him to the stores to buy Victor’s magazines when Yuuri was too embarrassed to walk in to buy them himself. Phichit straight up just barely tolerated his obsession with Victor, and Yuuri was almost completely sure that it was only because it gave the Thai boy an immense source of organic entertainment to see Yuuri looking far and wide for anything that he could buy that was related to Victor Nikiforov.

But sitting here, with Victor Nikiforov in the flesh, next to him, laughter rolling easily off Victor’s tongue and that sparkle so close and so real in his eyes, dissipating the worry and tension that had hovered between the two of them minutes before…

_Honestly, who could fault me for falling for someone like him?_

::x::

“But I have to say,” Victor smirked, wiping tears away from the corner of his eyes. “You’re possibly the most unconventional, _adorable_ fan I’ve ever met face to face.”

It was true. All the other fans that Victor had met had always been too...forward with their affections for him. They’d shoved each other just to get closer to him, flashed cameras in his face to get a shot of him, grabbed him and pulled him around to position him for their selfies...and Victor had endured through everything because it came with the job. He smiled for their cameras when they asked him to, signed their posters and their notebooks and their shirts when they begged him for autographs, gave everyone handshakes and passed out the occasional hug to appease the screaming masses. Yakov had always said it would be good for publicity if he treated his fans well, and so he had endured, because he had a reputation to uphold and because a single frown could cost him a lot of money.

And of course, how quickly that all soured when rumors started flying.

But right here, curled up on the couch with someone who claimed to be his ‘kind of’ fan, _even though he totally named the designer, issue, date and the clothing item in a single breath_ , Victor had never felt so comfortable.

Beside him, Yuuri was making something that sounded like a cross between a groan and a tiny scream. “Ugh, don’t, please. You’re embarrassing me. Ugh, my God,” Yuuri smothered his face with a pillow. “I’m just a casual fan, okay? No big deal.”

Victor gently pried the pillow away from Yuuri’s face. “You like my clothes? Did you ever buy anything because I modelled for it?”

Yuuri sent a questioning look Victor’s way. “Are you kidding me? You model for top-tier designer brands. I’ve...God, I haven’t even finished paying my debts for undergraduate school tuition, and I’ve still got to deal with graduate school…”

“Yuuri,” Victor said softly, drawing out the syllables slowly, seductively. He leaned closer to Yuuri and watched in delight as the Japanese man squeaked and made to hide behind the pillow again, actions which he thwarted by grabbing the cushion and chuckling it somewhere to his left. There was a _whoomph_ as Makkachin leapt off the couch to chase it.

“How would you feel,” Victor smirked as a glazed look came over Yuuri’s eyes. “If I gave you a private modeling show, all to yourself? Just for my very own, _number 1 fan?_ ”

::x::

Victor certainly wasn’t feeling very sexy anymore, five minutes later, as he repeatedly rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.

Yuuri had moved so fast he’d surprised even himself, all but vaulting over the back of the sofa and scrambling into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it and then bracing against it with his whole body as Victor came chasing after him.

“Yuuri!” Came Victor’s muffled voice. “Forgive me, Yuuri! I took the joke too far! Let’s sleep together, Yuuri, I promise that I won’t bite!”

“No!” Yuuri said vehemently. “I’m going to sleep in your bathtub tonight!”

“Not the bathtub!” Victor yelped back. “That is not very comfortable. Yuuri, come on out! I’ll paint your nails for you.”

“I don’t want you to paint my nails,” Yuuri retorted shakily.

“Makkachin misses you already,” Victor said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Oh, Yuuri, he’s giving me the puppy dog eyes...I can’t resist them...please...they’re too powerful…he’s a sad dog now, Yuuri, look what you’ve done! Come on out, Makkachin wants to cuddle with you!”

The bathroom lock clicked and Yuuri cautiously peeked his head out...but Makkachin was nowhere to be found.

With a cry of victory, Victor grabbed Yuuri’s hand and tugged him out from his hiding spot. “Yuuri, we’re going to make this the best sleepover yet. Nobody is sleeping in the bathtub tonight.”

::x::

Yuuri ended up taking Victor’s bed, after another round of back and forth with the overly enthusiastic Russian. They actually ended up painting each other's nails; Yuuri will never be able to get the image of Victor, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as he stroked the softest shade of baby blue onto Yuuri's nibbled and uneven nails.

Yuuri himself had had plenty of practice with Mari, and had confidently given Victor multiple coats of glittering gold. Victor had exclaimed his excitement and praised Yuuri's skills to the high heavens with every fingernail that Yuuri completed, leaving the Japanese man stuttering and blushing the whole time. Afterwards, Victor had insisted that they take a photo of their nails together, which Yuuri reluctantly obliged after Victor agreed not to post the image on Instagram.

Victor still had many, many, many fans on Instagram. Yuuri would know, he's one of them.  

"What a great sleepover, Yuuri!" Victor had grinned, impishly. "Tell me more of your secrets. Do you dream of me?" 

This time, Yuuri only managed to get halfway down the corridor before Victor figured he was going for the bathroom again and blocked him off. In the end, they agreed to go to bed (a quick glance at the clock revealed that it was already 3 am and Yuuri needed to register for classes tomorrow morning still...) and Victor had finally agreed to let Yuuri get his beauty rest. 

And then the sleeping arrangements. Victor had insisted and insisted and insisted; he’d claimed that he couldn’t possibly forgive himself if he let his number one fan sleep on the floor or on the couch. _God_ , Yuuri thought, admiring his nails briefly before burying his face in his hands again. _This whole spectacle is so embarrassing…I can’t wait to return to the familiar comfort of my apartment, oh man._

As he settled into Victor’s bed, _covered in Victor’s sheets and his head resting on Victor’s pillow, my goodness..._ Yuuri couldn’t help but grin to himself. Getting locked out of his apartment is simultaneously the worst and the best thing to happen to him. He’d admitted that he was a fan of Victor to Victor himself, and he’d managed to make a joke of himself in a million different ways in the handful of hours that they’ve known each other, but if Yuuri was to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was getting comfortable being around Victor. It’s like they’d been friends for a lifetime or more already, and they’d fallen into the comfort of a close friendship without any of the first-meeting awkwardness and isolating silences that Yuuri usually dealt with when making new friends.

It was almost enough to give him a little boost of confidence. The fact that Victor Nikiforov had called him adorable, had spent hours talking with plain old Katsuki Yuuri in a cafe and then eaten dinner with Yuuri and then brought Yuuri back to his apartment….

 _Happy._ He smiled so wide his mouth ached. _I’m happy._

Next to him, Makkachin snuffled into the sheets and poked Yuuri with a cold, wet nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's still alive!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the late update, but life dragged me into the depths of inevitable, forced productivity. I had to do many things and was simply too tired to write a full chapter until now. This chapter gave me a fair bit of trouble as well and I started it over twice, but I think I'm finally proud of what I've got. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and once again, sorry for the late update! As always, all of your comments and kudos and bookmarks give me life and I'm super lucky to have amazing readers like you guys :) Thank you all!


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